To Poet Poem by Showkat Ahmad Wani

My poet, be being to carve the face of joy
Among the gloomy cliffs of inner darks,
Let drink the fire of feel from flow of life,
And take the pain as pain to write with pain;
Be sea of blaze to sink the glaciers giant
In only drop of poetic beam of thought,
Do give thy desert eyes a drop of life;
Do fix a soul to pen and draw the green,
Let wet the paper red with howls of heart,
And pare the every sigh that knocks thy door.
This ghastly panged frame was home of pride,
Where spring would bloom the flowery beds of bliss,
And breeze would dance among the rills of laugh.
My poet, do sit by blackly stem and read
The sagas-grand of man's unruly beast;
Let mark of ruins of shaggy homes at twigs
And Oh! that newly birth became a feast.
Let drop thy king's sky and rags of mind,
And wear the gentle cloths of noble heart.
Don't art thy thought for thought and verse for verse,
Submit thy pen for human cry for life,
Let bury fanciful igniting loves
Of caged bird and flowery wait of rose,
Erase the silky tale of mockery wears,
And fabric-flights among the fancy stars,
Don't hide beneath the rocky shields of words,
Do weave thy verse with simple string of pearls
To hurl the false, to take the right for being.