A poet

In a boi-mela, one book enthusiast meets another

Poverty writ large on his face

The man lives in a faraway remote village

He goes to all the village-melas, all through the year

There he recites what he writes

A jewel in the dust this man was not

But had the beauty of conviction

And plenty of dreams

Not once during his recitations

Wavered the 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.