Is This Harsh?: Letter To A Poor Poet

You are wealthy and poor
You are wealthy in words
But your pockets are dry wells
I love to read your poems
Eulogising my constitution
But where does that get one
If after reading, the stomach remains empty?
You promised to take me to the sun
Buy me a land in the moon
And sing to me of the beauty
And happiness that nature brings
All these, I read only in your poems--
I love the dreamer,
But I love better he who makes dreams come true.

I love to watch you sitting beneath the mango tree
Scribbling away myriad verses
I love to hear your voice
As you read aloud those beauteous words
And I love to see you enraptured by your own words
But I do not like it that you have just two pairs of trousers
I do not like it that your bed creaks and squeaks
Like a tired door
And I do not like to hear your shoes crying for help.

A woman's days are like that of the flower
Which blossoms today and withers tomorrow
So leave I must
Your journey lies far ahead
Your path is still rough and fuzzy
Your shoes are already worn out
You have no umbrella to brace the stormy weather
No cover cloth to keep away the icy cold of the night.
When you become a man of your own,
Perhaps there will be someone for you
But me, I must cast my net in another ocean.



This poem was submitted to us by Abubakar Ishaq Eazy a poet and freelance writer.

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