In the wee hours of the day,
There shall be a demonstration in town,
To the court of law,
To demand for poetic justice,
Of a poet killed mercilessly.
The demonstration shall be led by unknown poets,
Who have always been denied opportunities to showcase their talents
The front line shall consist of marching squad,
Being led by spoken word artists.
Then the witnesses shall follow,
Composing the poet's team of readers,
Carrying ink, pens, notepads, unfinished pieces, rejected pieces, blogs and all forms of evidence.
The suspects shall be tried,
Starting with editors and publishers,
Ending with plagiarists and dream killers.
If found guilty they shall be charged with treason,
Of killing a young mind with a focused future.
A young mind who could have liberated the society with his words.
The audience shall be allowed to ask questions in court,
And demand reasons for the poet's death,
Before that the poet's panegyric shall be read,
To determine who is responsible for his demise.
The poet was tortured mentally before being shot in the veins,
His blood flowed with anger,
Drop after drop on the paper, word after word, forming a line.
The lines formed a stanza, and from stanza to stanza, a full piece developed.
The piece was cooked with the necessary ingredients,
And served with mango juice to all readers, editors and publishers.
Some rejected it saying it attacked them,
Some took the piece and served it with lemon juice, claiming to be cooks,
Ending to be crowned with what was not rightfully theirs
The editors said it had errors but kept a copy for themselves,
While the publishers raised the fee, making it expensive for the poet.
Few who embraced it couldn't offer a hand.
A dream was killed.
The poet's veins ran dry,
Not a single drop of blood left to drip on the paper,
All his energy was gone,
He died a miserable death.
So the first question had to be answered,
Who killed the Poet?
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