Now this is a look-so-good thingy: And yea, the title of this poem is actually : My Poetry I look out through the window, A hundred birds sing their mornings everytime And as the sun rises on the horizon. The birds have their poetry. I sift through the pages of my book, And as 'The Artist' paints on His canvas so blue; the lines of his imagination. 'He' too has his poetry. I drive through the forest, The raven preys on the canary, And as the apes mock-fight among themselves, The forest has its poetry. I sit in my leather-backed chair beside the glowing fire, in the comfort of my man-made luxuries. And with a coffee in my hand, I hear what sings around me; Think its the music from the radio. As I begin to admire 'His' creations, I come to see the poetry in all around me, And as I consider what's remniscient of my soul, I suddenly see a poetry I'd ignored all my life. These were the best verses I'd ever heard. Such a beautiful ballad; full of love. And as my heart starts to sing to the tune, I begin to know its such a majestic world. I think that's what they were, no mere travesty. They were the words of 'Life', Which now became 'My Poetry'. The poem follows a day to night kinda thing where we reflect on our doings at the end of the day. How we look upon our lives is really completely different thing! We complain, we groan but at the end accept nature as the biggest work of God. 'The Artist' means God and His canvas is the Earth.