When a midnight dog had barked at the dark
There came up a word seminar from the night
In a hall of poets chasing truths widely known
An electric fan stirring its hot air of repetitions.

Supposing the seminar is shifted to a sit-stone
Under the tree, with ant-holes brimming with views
A passing fantasy from inside a sleeping mind.

Here we have a seminar of e-poets with lulu books
Behind the window curtains, to bypass brown ants
Who vent strong acidic views on our under-legs.
We will not miss hot air of higher reaches of hall.

A man sits in the back row with a head in hands
Dreaming of golden brown lunch with lentil soup . 
He has no rabid views about making verse blank
In the forenoon sessions, after a biscuit break.

Just when the speaker comes up with a rare gem
The loo at the back beckons the high and the low
The lulu poets stand in rows before  filling pots.
It is in these mini-seminars that  inspiration flows.


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