A poet can never rest in peace
And forget all his miseries
No choice but to create along
With pearls of pain , a happy song
Even against his own free will
Or does he have a free will still ?
A poet , a prisoner
The same forever
Born a weaver
of tales , believer
Of goodness in man
He concieves peace
But to Rest in it ....
That ,he never can ....
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