The Impoverished Poet
By Fiza Pathan
I was selling my poems on the streets last night when I saw you pass by.
You look different now but my heart recognized you.
You were on the way to the station and were in such a hurry
That you didn’t recognize your old lover.
I lamented till tears brought me relief
My lover has left me behind and has moved on.
But I have stayed on the same path and so like the moth,
Which is burnt when it comes near the fire
I have been characterized as the sorrowful poet.
I will not curse you though my poverty tempts me to do so
I take out my frustration in my verses, would you care to read a few.
I won’t charge you a cent dear old lover
Nothing more should I have of yours
To make my ghost linger behind after death.
For I have treasured everything you have given me in the past
Your gold chain, your cigarette ash, your guitar strings and your kind words.
You moved on ahead to a wonderful world,
But here with your mementos will I stay
Watching the image of you freeze in my soul’s eye.
The night is cold but I linger on.
I’ve got to sell my poetry for a loaf of bread to eat,
You will be eating heartily with your wife who was my best friend
With love you will kiss her forehead and thinking of that I will weep.
Pray dearest, look upon the poet who loved you
Buy a couple of poems before I take shelter under a shanty house.
In the poor house of orphans, I live with a dog and a cat as family.
Please dear one-buy a couple of poems from your old lover.
Maybe it will remind you of a love gone by
And then you will look into my eyes and dazzle
My poor spirit all over again.
Copyright © 2014 by Fiza Pathan
Image courtesy: http://www.morguefile.com/archive/display/10499