A poet never writes …
He pucks what he can’t digest anymore.
Undertakings weird,
Accepted by million though.
He tries to masticate and
Swallow the gooey unbreakable stuff.
Yet, abortive unlike people around.
Stomach-a failure- to transform it and
Make it a fraction of body and psyche.
He pucks and hurl s it out.
With only difference…
It either sees the sheen or
Lumber-room is the destination.
Unknowingly, puck at first becomes his component
Then, comes out undigested.
Amalgamated with the self.

Poet never write they puck.
Not the unbreakable substance this time but
Entangling controversial mind's eye.
Finding it out unadjustible in heart and mind.
They let it go,
Go and catch the life on the wing.
The elusive bulk lest,
It should start eating the tissue, lest
It should suffocate breathing room, lest
Stuff the void inside.
Ending in destructive explosion.

A poet never writes but pucks,
Like a kid,
The milk after his stomach is puffy.
When overload agitates him.
A poet never writes but pucks…

sophia hayyat

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-poet-never-writes/