Stretching the tendons of my brain,
To ultimate realms of high strung imagination,
Flowing from deep recesses of throbbing heart,
And dreamy lips partially opened to light,
Embroidered with tunnels of abstract thoughts,
Spontaneous ideas on existing life,
Composed in a plethora of style and rhyme,
Absorbing loads of talent and dedicated time,
Spun meticulously with silent aggression,
Unfolding a saga of true emotions,
Portraying a moral and emphasizing love,
Great pains to deliver and derive,
An easy victim of sardonic ridicule,
A truncated version of written prose,
Elaborately expressed in a few lines,
Granting it the status of a glittering fable,
Entangling the mind in an ocean of words,
With equivalent use of punctuation marks,
An inborn skill in some,
Developed to dizzy heights with the passage of time,
A meager source of income in India,
While capturing mammoth audiences in foreign land,
A persevering route of earning fodder through rhyme,
Presented as a pearl of written composition,
Is what we mean by self composed poetry.
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