Not as an art

It may not considered as an art It may not find suitable mart Yet it is feeling that every human being may have When in trouble the way may pave It has lost no charm Every word is useful without any harm What do we need in our hostile mind? A little rest and nice place to find Who has time for all natural phenomena? When everything is seen or available in cinema Now that too has vanished or disappeared Who will care and think about is feared? No one wants to hear morning cuckoo Life is rapidly moving and is very true We want cooking gas from earth and high rise buildings Earth is giving away and threatens imminent endings I helplessly look at the sky and grave I can’t live in isolation and be brave I know the future generation may not have time What will they do when natural sources depletes sometimes? No one may hear my painted parrot’s voice They would think it unnecessary noise I have nothing to air and invite the wrath Being poet means a shot sure death I may be laughed at silly creations It may have only imaginary revelations Some nice words placed in inverted coma I can not expect it high staged drama