I have given birth
more than two decades ago
down two decades
have been reborn
as mother
as sire
My offspring have flown the nest
are flying away everyday
barren I am today
no more births to me
no more my rebirth
My womb dry
can bring on new life no more
no fluid running there now
to cradle the unborn
My pen is sterile
the ink is dry
3 thoughts on “Death of a Poet”
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Highly introspective and intensely lachrymose.
The blotting of the mirror image. Liked it!
Exactly . after the death of a poet the entire creation will stand sterile. The creation will loose its fertility . The first creation started with expression of poetry and the last will be with the end of poetry. That will be the death of a poet.