Once I thought I could not be a poet
As to me, love does not flow naturally
And I knew not how to do romance
And have no courage to write a thing
That people generally call obscene
The act which most of the time I detest most
Is to glorify the gory nationalism and war
And no one listens to me when I call them
To peace as I am a man too insignificant
Later I thought I should talk to myself
And ask me if I have a life and that too is alive
If it is yes then it has materials enough
To make me a philosopher, not only a poet;
Again the things which are big and great
I do not know those like eminent people do
But I find out when I went out to search a bit
That I am rightly wrong and poetry is not to set
To extract greatness out from what is huge
But to bring out the glory found in small things.
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