Where you face
The onslaught of ideas
And simply pass
They are struck again
With pain
Of people at large
The chain of thoughts emerge
So it is place
In corner
Of nice home
All ideas rush and I welcome
Poetry for me is no profession
I make confession
But it is real passion
And I end up with expression
I paint it with natural colors
Put human feelings with honor
I show poverty as special stage
Where you stand firm and always encourage
The command is in your hand
The mind tune with heart and end
With some suggestions
And equally matched with actions