After all these poems, I hope a listening ear will hear.
I hope all will understand my rhyme though not that fine.
If art was a crime, my counts will be forty nine.
So I write without jealousy, greedy and fear.
I tried to relieve my burden by giving other the burden.
The burden of reading my uncelebrated life.
Very soon when I have her, I will write of my wife,
By that time I hope I will not have a burden.
I share my life with strangers.
My life is celebrated by unknown people.
Hope this life of mine will not theirs cripple.
I will write even among war mongers.
Art is the cure
As music which feed love.
Art is a power from above,
Which lure.
