Don't give a poet any pain.
If you do then he would spread that pain
Into the wings of wind, into the heart of the sky.
He ties his loneliness as a shroud around his body
And walks alone on dusty roads;
On the roofs of every house,
In the cove of all horizons,
All alone.
He floats in the breeze,
Goes to the moon and spreads new stars in the sky,
Like a cursed wayfarer
All alone.
Don't give him pain. Don't throw him away from your door,
When he comes to you for a glass of water.
If you do then,
All the stars and moons will be sad;
The galaxies won't shine on you;
Wind won't blow in your face;
And the flowers won't bloom in your backyard.
You can see him all the time,
Leaning against a lamp-post in a dark alley.
With a wide happiness in his face.
Or sometimes in a roadside cafe,
He just sits there,
With a soared heart
Facing the cruel reality of loneliness.
Or sometimes he observes the people in the streets.
And tries to understand their hearts desire,
In his own faulty ways.
At the core of midnight,
Sometimes he quietly puts some flowers
In every doorstep!
And then comes back to his own shabby graveyard.
Sometimes he looks to the sky
And asks the clouds to trade a smile for his lines.
In his heart,
There is love.
But with his love,
He is so weak
So feeble!
Don't give him pain.
Let him discover the stones in the heart of every man.
The sorrows of the trees
And the sweet look
Of beautiful women.
In his own dreamy ways!
Let him walk away on shady roads
And let him swim in the wind,
All alone.
Perhaps you can hold his weak hands
And give him a piece of your heart.
If you cant then,
Leave him alone.
And let him mingle...
In to himself.
Let him change himself
Everyday.
Don't hurt his hurt.
Don't give him pain.
Let him find his own sweet...pain,
From his own inside.
