poet's Soul.

    Poet’s Soul.

Poet’s  Soul  does not  fritter   or  fumble,

Nor  does  it  romp  in  idle  gamble,

Unless  meant to be in writing  with  a

Specific purpose. It does meditate  with

Yogic   splendour. In search  of  an  oyster

With  rosy  sea  pearl embedded in

Words of  wisdom, take it or abrogate it,

It  doesn’t  care.  I   view   her  Soul in

That piece of  paper, crumbled  though,

It isn’t a  tomato  or  rotten  egg

Jettisoned  in disgust or  waste.

It is  moving  ahead, into  realms

Of   semantic  Searches.