The critics, they loathe,
Us poets, who scribble,
Every word, every verse,
With ink and memories,
And sometimes ramble.
These busy people,
With their frozen hearts,
Find grammar and structure,
Instead of beauty in art.
Why? Search harder,
For flaws in prose?
If you can simply ignore,
The thorns on a rose?
And the abstract art!
Are a terrible terror,
For the orthodox critic,
Who never came outside,
And blossomed into flower.
Oh, spare the artists,
The poets and the writers,
We mix into the ink,
Our blood, sweat and tears!
Often ridiculed as callous,
We feel as much as,
Everybody feel everyday,
But perhaps we show it,
In a different way.
The art,
Please don't categorise,
It's an expression,
Just like an essay or article,
Don't edit it or summarise.
Oh critics! We artists,
We give away,
Our hearts on line,
On paints and ink,
Let words be careful you say.
But, we plead you,
Don't shower,
False praises on us,
We're impervious to it,
And are useless as broken feathers.
So please, please every critic,
Think everytime twice,
When you say your words,
Make sure, they don't,
Make the listener wince.
Sincerely,
The Artists, The Poets, The Writers.
*
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People always judge others. Through harsh book reviews, movie critiques and underrated musicians. What I want to say is don't just like or dislike a book, movie or a song just because it is mainstream or 'in-vogue'. Feel whatever the creator wanted to convey and then only make your judgements. Because everybody deserves a benefit of doubt.
Don't you think so too? :)
YOU ARE READING
A BAG OF POEMS
PoetryA spark that fades, Just as you touch it, yet, Illuminating all shades. Fleeting and transitory, Still it manages, To convey a story. Highest ranking till date: #13 in poetry (4/12/16)
