Met a book enthusiast
In a boi-mela
This man lives far away
In a remote village
He goes to village-melas
All through the year
To recite poems
Poverty was writ large on his face
Jewel in the dust this man was not
But had beauty of conviction
And plenty of dreams
Not once during recitations
Wavered self-belief of this man
Nor did he ever sell his poverty
A true poet this man was