Confessions of a poet

I may sound wise,

but I’m not always so.

I may seem evolved,

but I have pitfalls too.

My best love songs,

don’t make me romantic.

They enthral me sometimes,

but don’t always give a kick.

A beautiful poem doesn’t

make me a perfect person.

For in the ocean of my flaws,

it’s just a wave of perfection.

I have my moments,

I have my quirks,

I get hurt too and

behave like a jerk.

I am as human

as human can be.

But when poetry comes,

It’s not just me.

Although it may seem like

it’s coming ‘from’ me,

the real truth is that,

It’s coming ‘through’ me.

I learn as much

in the process of writing

as you all do

in the moment of reading.

I sometimes don’t practise  

the wisdom of my own writing.

For I often slip, falter and fall

before I get up and get going.

But when I fall below the line,

I’m aware of the missed track.

My writing becomes my mirror

that I can’t face, until I’m back.

My poems become my beacon

that draws me out of the dark;

when I’m finally out in the sun,

they sing merrily like a lark.