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Poet Recondite

With one stroke he can make
With one knock he can break
With one spill of his ink
He can wake the world up

But flying is his mind in the skies
At the bays of the heaven fictional
Unmindful of his legs in the earth
So well rooted one foot up to knees
He’s a poet recondite unmindful
Of his social duties
What a waste is talent that serves not
Populace that is grinding in grief
My advice to fellow poet greats
You better ask your pen what it prefers
Its purpose; if I’m right
It tells straight,
To invest on this earth its finest letter wealth
But it sulks, if at all
Better break its nib-neck

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