A writer...

A face, normal like others
Average height, he don’t have feathers
Yet he can fly
High in his own sky
In his world, in his thought
Innumerous battles he fought
He thinks a lot, and speaks very less
He bothers not of looks, neither of dress
For others he is reticent
He sounds weird, he is not decent
But his heart is sensitive to all
Issues of society or a kid’s lost doll
He contemplates on each aspect
He is the writer, he deserves respect
He has oodles of ideas, plethora of thoughts
He can think of cool sun, and polite bigots
He can see union of water and sun rays
He can define tears in some eccentric ways
He can make you smile by only few lines
He can define life in his beautiful rhymes
He is a wizard of words, a magic man
None can see the smile of bud on embracing dew, only he can
He has a beautiful heart, home to all feelings
In despair of life, his words are soothing, act as healings
A nice human, a sensitive chap, a deep thinker, and a tenacious fighter
He is a unique creation of god; he is a “Writer”.