What Does The Poet Ultimately Want In Life?
— Beyond the Ink
Everyone failed to see the colors of my words;
they were always red, deep crimson red,
like blood.
A blood that I kept splashing throughout my life on paper,
yet no eye that read those words could meet the pain behind.
What does the poet ultimately want in life?
To be read, to be understood —
if not by masses, then at least by just one.
But poets have hard luck; they are a different kind of breed.
Their work is only read after death takes over their life.
But I am different: I am not that poet —
who will let you uncover what I write after I die.
If you failed to read me in my life,
you don’t deserve to read me after I die.
I will put my poems on fire and let my emotions burn before my eyes.
I am not a weak poet.
I want you to engrave on my gravestone:
“Here lies the poet who took her stories with her to the grave,
a keeper of flames that fiercely guarded her fire,
never allowing it to dim into the cold, forgotten ashes of her afterlife.”
I am a firm believer that if you were not with me in my life when I needed you the most, don’t cry when I die. If you weren’t with me in my sad times, you don’t deserve to be with me in my moments of joy.
My deepest gratitude to Claire Kelly and the team at Write Under The Moon!
— © Misbah Sheikhh 2024
