A puzzle it turns out


    That we in turn, turn in at crossed roads of answer Fighting not to be fought with mockery I, the originator of this line answered:


    Poetry is nothing but an imagery of a crazy man


    We all are crazy; what makes me a better crazy fellow, is poetry.


    By remembering our heroes who once held victory


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    We murmur by calling the blissful shapes of our women and not ladies!


    He knuckles his head over when he flashed back


    The memory of the village in the city


    Finally, he answers that the power of the police and its employers


    Of its formality, crashes our soul of genuine poetry!


    Mere sky-scraping of the views of men