POOR POET
I am a poor
poet.
My Voice is
depressed.
In this
selfish world,
None wants to
listen it.
I am running
from pillar to post
In search of
nothingness.
It is an
illusion
Like the
mirage in the desert.
People have
set foot towards materialism
But I am busy
in loneliness
To weave my
dreams of
Fancy and
imagination.
I am trying
to establish my identity
In a world,
Which is
being ruled by
Power hungry
generation.
But still as
hope is there
And it
nourishes the life
And life is
what we think
And act and
other imitate.