How penning a poem feels?

WRITING A POEM…
Writing a poem is no gain
It is all about rhyming your pain
Living life in the lane so last
Rewriting again the pain so fast
Smelling roses on paper
And sorrows in Napier
Ending every time in pain
Every longing in vain
Is this a hobby in the end?
Or a love failure’s set trend?
As barren as desert’s sand
They depart always…
Who walked someday pinkish ways?
With hands in beloved’s hand
So shall I die?
But never shall I lie
That I was in love sometime
And lived in my lover’s every chime

Reword
This is Shayar’s one of the finest odes. It depicts the state of being of Shayar when he sits back, rolls the cavalcade of time and pens an elegy straight from the red door of the red castle. This ode is all about writing a limerick. It is all about rhyming the agony of hisses of his verve that was some day on a merry hieroglyphic. The papyrus begins smelling rose and its thorns smitten Shayar in its own sense. Shayar ponders over the fact that is this penning of verses a leisure pursuit or his first love’s merry memories? The Shayar in me would perhaps die but the substantial feelings towards her are immortal and are not bounded by the pangs of time. Moreover the aim of living loving and lifting the sore idea of love will always remain transcendental.