‘Novel’ Pain

A poetry of publishing blues

I wasn’t poor, being not rich 

Life was fine, thanks to hope 

All that changed, thanks to muse, 

With one ‘novel’ passion pure

Affairs I had, a dozen of them 

Unknown to the lovers of books,

Coldshouldered by publishers all 

Manuscripts those make pillows 

In my bed to cause nightmares,

With hope dead, I can’t dream

Now I’m poor, robbed of hope. 

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This I penned much before I put

Twelve of those in public domain