>≫For A Poem Only

A poem Woven with words And few lines of length For which daily I die, And let my blood to be sucked Like winks do to the oil of a lamp For a poem I daily sit Same place, same time Draw all the hells of my concentration And keep going on meditating As monks do Without caring the attention of their surroundings I take all the sufferings and pain Willingly go through all kinds of hardship For that poem only If even for once, By which I wish to blow your mind Day after day I stretch for that poem With out pouring a drop of rain By which I wish to drench you Like every time probably I fail this time, too.