Desire dies before fed.

As a boy I had had a desire
Of owning a trade game
Like the one my neighbour had.
With no recourse to buy it,
I collected boards and art papers
To make a copy of that game.
Collections took a few years by when
I had outlived the desire.
No game; no regret since then.

At seventy I nurture a desire:
To publish books of my poetry.
Finding means and resources
Has swallowed many years.
I’m afraid it would out grow the desire
And it would meet the same fate.
Each desire lives, starves and dies
Before fed, leaving no regrets.
07.07.2011.

poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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