The Seller Of Words

a seller of poems, songs and elegies am i
sometimes half-asleep, at others alert am i

a few songs i have, all wrapped-up in pain
some are done and dusted, others incomplete remain

some are a bit coy, like the beloved in the presence of her lover
some are fragrant blossoms, like the hair that does her head cover

some couplets are such,
whose each word has dropped from my eyes like blood
some are as if a thought,
like a torrent of sparks, towards the sky does flood

some are as dark as the darkest moon-abandoned night
and some, like the midday sun, are oh-so-bright

a few poems have the shyness that makes lowering one's gaze a habit
and some, like the cry of martyrdom, does a heart-rending pain inhabit

some are soaked in intoxication, as if the entire cellar one had imbibed
and others are choked with dread, as if the day of judgement had arrived

a seller of poems, songs and elegies am i
sometimes half-asleep, at others alert am i