The poet in me is always alive,
Is always alert to everything
I can discern an image,
A metaphor, a simile, some poetic content.
The poet in me is happiest
In the company of nature,
Trees, meadows, flowers,
Fill my heart with poetic showers.
The poet in me is delighted
When surrounded by children,
Their innocence enhances my creativity,
Their bright faces fill me with tranquillity
The poet in me is overwhelmed by
The sorrow and hard life of the poor,
My pen writes about their anguish,
My heart feels for their struggle.
The poet in me imagines,
The courage of the soldier,
And his sacrifice, my pen writes
About his life and sheds tears for him.
Vasudha Pansare
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