God, If Find You Time, Make Me Not A Poet In My Next Birth Poem by Bijay Kant Dubey

God, if find You any time to carve and chisel me out
Of clay,
Make me not a poet
Again
If make You in Your leisure time
As to make a poet
Is to waste time,
The poet as an idle-seeking fellow
Will keep writing poems
Oblivious of the wife in tattered clothes,
The son and daughter
Living clumsily,
Playing in dust,
What he had to spend on them,
He would on his poetry
As for to be a poet,
Which he may or may not,
As fame does not come to all at all.

So, God, please keep my words in mind,
When make you me again,
Do not make me a poet,
A mad poet
Writing poetry madly,
A mad, mad man
Maddening it all,
A mortal man
Trying to immortalize himself,
A Kubla or Chengiz Khan whimsical
Or giving the cruellest orders,
Though wanted I not to be
A Kubla or Chengiz Khan,
As a poet cannot be as such cruel.