The Helpless
There is a tag tied to my wrist,
It reads written in blue Rs. 1/= only,
The lowest possible price,
The selling price.
I sell very cheaply in the market
But no one has so far paid that rupee to buy me.
I am laughed at by those who read my poems
And my other books.
‘See, how low you have sunk.’
Thus I am jeered
By the crowd of know-alls and the do-alls,
They are all wise men
For which reason, they do not carry price tags,
They do not write poems,
They do not publish any book.
This poem is about:
Me