In a boi-mela
One book enthusiast meets another, a poet
The poet lives far away, in a remote village
Poverty writ large on his face
He goes to all the village-melas, all through the year
There he recites his poems
A jewel this man was not, but had the beauty of conviction
And plenty of dreams
Not once during recitations, wavered self-belief of this man
Nor did he ever sell his poverty, and asked for sympathy
Despite the odds
This man loved being a poet
A true poet this man was