Metamorphosis

Whenever I write
a poem, blood oozes out.
Why was I catching the fire?

The desire is to speak
short sentences to convey the
answer to black questions.

Slowly the empathy
works. The beautiful color of red blood
has many meanings. I said you were my blood.

A poet reacts to what happens around. His empathy may not be understood immediately but there will be a day on which he would be understood that he wrote to better the world.

Rajendra Singh Baisthakur , Nellore, AP, 524003