Averse to judging a verse

Averse to judging a verse

At the temple

is the gate to liberty;

judgement is the lock

gratitude the key.

Let me write poetry

let me spare the bard

under the greenwood tree, on the road

his angst let me store, be free

in the infinite peaceful abode

follow his advice, quit the dry books

with heavy looks

drink his words of worth

keep them all around, inside me.

Hold your tongue please,

let me love; read and write the lines

on the leaves, brown and green

wherever the heart lies

in vices, virtues, at every scene

let me take them in, at ease.

O what do they care

those budding fruits

blooming flowers

meadows and showers

rainbows, seas, thunders

O what do they care

those chirpy singers

let me read and write the lines

look at them without infliction and lies

embrace them just as they are

not scratch them with an incompetent scar.

If words express the chaos and cadence

with truthful pain and pleasure

not with designed pretence

then with gratitude I will

hug them and treasure.

In the journey of life as I

move along

my forehead locks

to judge the songs;

it unblocks, loving the lines,

their hues and cries

as gratefully witness

my ears and eyes.