Poet

This morning, together with many others,
I sneered at poetry
for being rubbish.

But only my sneering was genuine
because I am a poet.

I'm in the habit of collecting
any blank paper I find.
Someone said I had to be
up to something.
No, no way.
Compared to the poets in the street
I'm already indistinguishable from any passer-by.

Late at night,
I feel suddenly sleepless.
I get myself pen and paper
but cannot write a single word.

I cannot write a single word,
and feel discouraged, like a rat in defeat.
Finally, I understand perfectly:
it is my fate
to be a poet.

1984

POET