EXTREME EXCESS

Where from comes the language of verse,
No doubt from a heart it flows,
No simple mind it needs to start,
When thoughts are right the moment just,
As luminous pearls the words emerge,
And together fit like a perfect poem strung.

What needs the poet to borrow?
Or for that matter steal,
The king of hearts is forever rich,
The pauper sings for his meal,
Whichever way they choose to be,
Their heartfelt verse is real.

Now coming to matters trite,
Why so much in debate expend,
Be it of public domain or not,
It's the thought that a mind can bend,
All emerges in spontaneous pen,
That in writing do we send.

After all from babes to men,
Learning was by example in place,
What did who borrow or steal from whom?
If from this ancestry of thieves to trace,
It is said by a mind wiser then ours,
That imitation is the best form of praise.

~Sujata~

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