A Poet Poem by Kumar Parashar

Who is a poet? A pen which is articulate in expressions?
A word which cold uplift humans from state of depression?
A phrase which could imagine the petite in its majesticness?
A symphony which has the power to remove sightlessness?

I am not a poet; I am just an expressionist with a sheet
Mandela was a poet, who turned dreams into concrete
Dreams of love and care in the world of hatred and flames
A candle light brightening the paths of those in shame

I am not a poet; I am just an impressionist with a quill
Gandhi was a poet, a messiah of peace and goodwill
He who impersonated every man's grief and pain
Whose footprints will never be washed away in rain.

I am not a poet; I am just an imagination with words
Dalai Lama is a poet, the pool of love and the deity's orchard
He who can envision the presence of almighty within
His grace upon us urging the world away from sin

I am not a poet; I am just a jargon without a worth
Michelangelo was a poet, the creator of beauty from dirt
The perfect splendor of Sistine, a portrait of masterpiece
The sheer magnificence of whose grandeur will never cease

I am not a poet; I am just a futile, uncertain ink drop
Da Vinci was a poet, whose brush, like the first rain drop,
Quenched the soul of art with the Nazarene impression in frame
The canvas of Lisa, a picture of mystic sense and poetic acclaim

I am not a poet; I am just a rhyme in an unbalanced tune
Socrates was a poet, whose teachings has the wise bestrewn
The thoughts and sight of a man of acumen and perception
The ignorant be known and insipid at doors of inspiration

What is a poet? A word secluded in valleys of notion?
Ink on a blank, still with delicate illusion of motion?
Or a blank paper telling a million partial, unfinished stories?
I am not a poet; I am just an admirer of epic glories!