Eat my little dream
Like a forbidden fruit
And tell me
How it tastes like?
Sour, sweet, bitter or awful
Tell me in the straight and plain language
As I am not in the mood of unraveling your
Fancy lyrical metaphors
Decorated with artificiality
And irony
No more literary art
No more philosophy
Just speak to me in blunt words


You call yourself a poet
When you don’t even know the art
When you don’t even realize the obligation
Of being an oracle
The prophecies are just communicated
Without any conscious alteration
Or interpretation by lesser self
You can’t refine or slice
The revealed Reality
You just have to tell me
The real Truth
In the same monotonous tone
It came to your
Psyche

Oct 11,2008

Dr Kamran Haider Bukhari

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-pinnacle-of-creativity/