Critique
Nothing is inferior,
That is forged with sweat and soul;
Yet everything is,
That is born without.
Oh, you bitter judge,
Drowning in arrogance,
What have you ever done
That you could truly claim?
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Easy is not
The job of the creator.
Inspiration seldom comes announced.
Sit in silence this very moment—
What is it that you could bring to life
Which already is not?
Yet, if you let your spirit sink
Into the quiet depths,
You may find many a trinket
Springing into existence.
But do you dare
To name them as yours?
Could you tell the masses,
"This babe is mine,"
And bear the exact scrutiny
To which you subject others?
Would you nurse the child,
Rejected by the world,
Just because it came from you?
Or would you rather
Be forever the harsh critic?
-- Prem S.
