I am a poet

A leaf on the ground
Leaf from the book of my life
Lying dry and lifeless
On the scorching earth
I walk over
My tired feet
Feels the sound of bloodless pain
Death could not kill pain
Who that could be
Had the leaf a grave
I would have written
POET
A befitting epitaph
For the carver of epitaphs

I am sweet
Yet a bit bitter
I am love
Yet a bit hater
I am honest
Yet a bit cheater
I am content
Yet a bit jealous
I am beauty
Yet a bit ugly
I am Godly
Yet a bit devil
I am human
Yet a bit inhuman
I am peace
Yet a bit unease
I am mindless
Yet a bit spontaneous
I am usual
Yet a bit of wonder
I am silence
Yet a bit of thunder
I have no colour
Yet a bit rainbow
I am everything I can be
Yet I carry nothing in me
I am wild
And a bit of nature
I am a poet

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About neetuwali

Hi! I am Neetu. Who am I? This question is very difficult to answer. Well! If you insist, let me reveal. I am a human and like every other human I eat, sleep, drink, dance, sing, laugh, smile, cry and so on. Hang on! There is a difference. Unlike most of the human beings, I breathe and when I breathe, I relax. When I am relaxed, I draw. I draw sketches of me in words. I have been orbiting around sun for forty years now. I started this journey on the Valentine day of 1974. I have seen people craving for heaven and I was born in the only heaven on earth (Kashmir). My Grandfather was a spiritual personality and a renowned poet of his time. Though he left me around 35 years ago, I couldn’t let him go. I carry him in my eyes and mind and will do that till the end of my life. I hate words, yet I am full of words. I know words cannot express, yet I express me through words, because they are the only medium I am familiar with. That is why I try to express me as much as possible with as minimum words as possible. When I did Masters in business administration, I never knew, writing will be the only business in my life. More than hobby writing is a necessity for me, because it helps me get the load of thoughts off my head. I don’t remember when it that I wrote my first poem was. But I surely know the time of my last poem. Surely,not before my last breath.

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