For Whom Should I Write?

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(Or, Why should I write at all? This is a real real dichotomy or paradox when I write anything for my readers. Frankly speaking, I do not have any ready answer for this situation I get immersed in while I venture into speaking volumes for my soul searching endeavour to speak aloud to others. Are my listeners or for that matter my readers are truly ready to accept or challenge what I want to say out of the depth of my heart? If that is not, I ask myself why should I write at all? These pertinent questions engage all kinds of writers so to say. At least I think so. I do not know whether any writer is free from this dilemma. I leave this to all my readers to think about this so that I can find a way out of this crux.)

For whom should I write
For whon should I shed my blood
I don’t know who goes there
To pray for the rustling leaves of wild dreams
For fear of forgetting the misty tears
Of dewdrops even after lapsing so many years
Hot and happening so much in words
That no poet has ever been ready to dare to confess
His fire and anger in crucibles of dying death

As the cloak in dagger bares
How do I dare to lay siege to the columbarium
Of words that never know to mourn
The demise of too many poets in smells of cold flame
Yet I still live to die the same way
Not ever knowing for whom I should write my pains
Or for whom should I shed my eternal blood to remember them
At the last tango a poet should disrobe himself.

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