가사
In a land where poets overflow,
Magazines crown names we barely know,
Books pile high on the crowded shelves,
But truth hides deep where silence dwells.
Tenfold more than novelists rise,
Yet few can pierce with a single line,
They scribble shadows, call it profound,
But the heartbeat of song is rarely found.
Only one in a hundred shines,
With rhythm that breathes, with words that bind,
A verse that strikes like lightning’s flame,
The rest are echoes without a name.
They scatter lines, disguise with haze,
Claim mystery as their hiding place,
But real poems sing without disguise,
They bloom as flowers before your eyes.
Only one in a hundred shines,
With rhythm that breathes, with words that bind,
A verse that strikes like lightning’s flame,
The rest are echoes without a name.
True poetry is melody’s kin,
A pulse, a song, a soul within,
If it fails to stir the heart’s domain,
It’s nothing but ink, a wasted stain.
So let the false ones fade away,
The true will linger, bold and stay,
A single line that makes us see,
The rarest poets set us free.
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