Although
Dipped and merged
In the dire darkness,
He is the one
Who is busy-
Building up a world
Of light and delight,
Pondering over the dreams
That might bring laughter
In million lives,
Smile in billion lips
For the ones in the Neighborhood.


He is the architect
Of unborn dreams and
Desires yet to conceive.


He
Is the poet
Before the recognition of
The Society and fame
Adorns him, he
Already is a poet.

For a poet is born,
Never made, nor tutored.
The poems off his heart
Do lead him ahead,
Along the road of his days,
Along the bed of his nights,
Till they call him a poet.