I am Your Poet

This documentary was to be on a revolutionary poet and his poetry. It became a story of a person who lives a poem. And as we journey through the poetry and the poet, we end up with a mirror. In the mirror, a roughly-hew life, small, innocent-a dream-like existence, in the scrub forest, among the silent ruins, the old streets in the middle of the metropolis. The poetry slowly shows us the way, and the way slowly becomes poetry. The Protagonist has never written poetry, he speaks out poetry. He is poet of our unknown, unorganized, underground nation. He is the poet of those whose constituency is always bearing the cost of empire-builders. This documentary was to be on a revolutionary poet and his poetry. It became a story of a person who lives a poem. And as we journey through the poetry and the poet, we end up with a mirror. In the mirror, a roughly-hew life, small, innocent-a dream-like existence, in the scrub forest, among the silent ruins, the old streets in the middle of the metropolis. The poetry slowly shows us the way, and the way slowly becomes poetry. The Protagonist has never written poetry, he speaks out poetry. He is poet of our unknown, unorganized, underground nation. He is the poet of those whose constituency is always bearing the cost of empire-builders. This documentary was to be on a revolutionary poet and his poetry. It became a story of a person who lives a poem. And as we journey through the poetry and the poet, we end up with a mirror. In the mirror, a roughly-hew life, small, innocent-a dream-like existence, in the scrub forest, among the silent ruins, the old streets in the middle of the metropolis. The poetry slowly shows us the way, and the way slowly becomes poetry. The Protagonist has never written poetry, he speaks out poetry. He is poet of our unknown, unorganized, underground nation. He is the poet of those whose constituency is always bearing the cost of empire-builders. This documentary was to be on a revolutionary poet and his poetry. It became a story of a person who lives a poem. And as we journey through the poetry and the poet, we end up with a mirror. In the mirror, a roughly-hew life, small, innocent-a dream-like existence, in the scrub forest, among the silent ruins, the old streets in the middle of the metropolis. The poetry slowly shows us the way, and the way slowly becomes poetry. The Protagonist has never written poetry, he speaks out poetry. He is poet of our unknown, unorganized, underground nation. He is the poet of those whose constituency is always bearing the cost of empire-builders.