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