like a three-year-old child i imitate
the men and women of the bard
picking someone else’s pen i scribble
feeling in heart like other poets
i have also left an enclosure
with a flute for my songs
for others behind me to sing
with affection and wisdom
my associates do not deem
the un-rhythmic squirt squiggling
ignorance, but in me, a rascal
they see an immortal poet
a sage amongst them, a rebel
a prophet with a new vision
to transform deteriorating structures
and values of disintegrating cultures
