Poet Recondite

With one stroke he can make With one knock he can break With one spill of his ink He can wake the world up But flying is his mind in the skies At the bays of the heaven fictional Unmindful of his legs in the earth So well rooted one foot up to knees He’s a poet recondite unmindful Of his social duties What a waste is talent that serves not Populace that is grinding in grief My advice to fellow poet greats You better ask your pen what it prefers Its purpose; if I’m right It tells straight, To invest on this earth its finest letter wealth But it sulks, if at all Better break its nib-neck