who is a poet?

Today I meet someone who said poetry is a thing of jobless people, who have nothing better to do, someone who has a lot of time on hand to waste! I was surprised, offended a little.

So is that what it is? The one who appreciates life and sinks into its little matters-of-nothing is an indolent mental? Do I write poems because I have nothing better to do? No one better to talk to?

Am I the only one who believes life sustains in the fractions of moments. Am I the only one who shies from the affluent years?  I am mental ain’t I?  I am that person at the end of the row, with head phones on and talking to herself. I am the person who is startled once in a while by the loud laughter around. I am the person who talks less and yet is talked to, a lot.

I am not a poet; not yet.

I am not some divine Buddha who acquired the truth of life. I am not smart. I am not courageous. I am the one who pulls in her knees and is on her guard, upon a feather's touch. I am the one who gives a conversation stupid irrelevant leads to avoid confrontation. I am the one with a blank expression because most of the time it’s simply tiring to give a real one.

I am the one who dreams because I am a coward. I am the one who dreams because reality demands action.  I am the one who plays with words because they don’t complain. I am the one who toys with letters because they don’t betray. I am the one who will tell you the truth, you can disregard coz am mental. I am the one who sleeps for days, coz yes I have nothing else to do. Yes I have no one better to talk to.

I am the one, the poet may be and yet not the one. But please don’t say writing poems is the job of the jobless. I know you don’t understand them. I think you are lucky. But please don’t say writing poems is meaningless.  Please don’t hate what you can’t be. Coz I am the one happy in my mental state.