Inspiration

My autochthonous land, and in
my home, it all set about, today
who am I?

a poet,  squeezing out hunches in unembellished wit metaphorically
or a green lad callow and unready
for the verisimilitude of vivacity

Or the one who has consummated stardom in the art of epitomizing the characters of strident verities in the community ;

Who am I?
Who am I?
Who am I?

 Just a soul breathing on a loaf
of poesy;
'Born not, to be a poet,
They used to shout from the
rooftops;

To set this matter full before Ye,
my father, an obelisk of fortitude
and my inspiration,

The inspiration, I know, can
aggravate us to effectuate our goal;
found talk every of my father mind-boggling and the talk thought back to, of my father is :

"You can bring radical alteration by your write-ups"

The line pressing lightly the deep-rooted cores of my heart,
fetching a revolution, literally
not my concern,
His propelling, only to revitalize me,

Although, not writing in time, yet,
the day started I writing to revamp
my status ;

My father, an inspiration to my sagas
of heartbreaks,
to the ingenious sway of my poetry,
to the psalms of despondency and
to the threnody in the way hastily arriving from my heart broke.

His charisma in my life and
his wish me to clinch the
most flinty dreams of life ;

My mind rinsed by notions pristine;
suave words of life, captivating hope
in one's life ;

I disposed  of all inimical ripostes,
and forthwith  beholding my fervor permeating the hunky barricades of humanity;

Same nimble inspiration, invigorating
a man to elicit contemporary inklings
in life,
           helping him to rise up,
         to mend life,
    and to unbutton the most
                sealed bolts of life,
      It is inside you,
            it appears from You,
just be conscious of and
              act on it.
©Adi Adnan