I know you are my close friend.
You can ask: sit down and stand.
You can take all from a pocket
You know what’s pocket of poet.

But sorry my friend, not to-day
Ask me what I did in last days.
I sinned against my conscience
I can’t forgive me this action.

No beating bush; no, no more push
No death knell yet I am in hell
I breathe, heave, I walk and talk.
Sinned my soul, what must I talk?

No no, I haven’t slapped any body;
I’m poet, didn’t write any poetry.