"I may not be known ever to my own human species may be never with these ideas, Of which my mind is pregnant. Or shall I change my ink to crowd flattery? Write love, politics, God or adultery? For i think i have arrived little too soon, To deliver what my pregnant mind had concieved. Or shall I borrow ink from traders of words To delay my going back? And find myself standing in a queue, Waiting to be applaused like a trader's jack. or shall I marry? ©Naz Rat"