Confessions of a Poet

I may sound wise,
but I’m not always so.
I may seem evolved,
but I have pitfalls too.

My best love songs,
don’t make me romantic.
They enthral me sometimes,
but don’t always give a kick.

A beautiful poem doesn’t
make me a perfect person.
For in the ocean of my flaws,
it’s just a wave of perfection.

I have my moments,
I have my quirks,
I get hurt too and
behave like a jerk.

I am as human
as human can be.
But when poetry comes,
it’s not just me.

Although it may seem like
it’s coming ‘from’ me,
the real truth is that,
it’s coming ‘through’ me.

I learn as much
in the process of writing
as you all do
in the moment of reading.

I sometimes don’t practise
the wisdom of my own writing.
For I often falter, slip and fall
before I get up and get going.

But when I fall below the line,
I’m aware of the missed track.
My writing becomes my mirror
that I can’t face, until I’m back.

My poems become my beacon
that draws me out of the dark;
when I’m finally out in the sun,
they sing merrily like a lark.

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