Vatsala Radhakeesoon has been writing poems for 30 years and she is the author of numerous poetry books. She is also an abstract artist and likes to experiment various possibilities that bless Art.
Vatsala is a literary translator and currently lives at Rose-Hill, Mauritius. Poet’s blog link related to her books:

https://booksbyvatsalaradhakeesoon.wordpress.com

Poet

On Sunday, burn the midnight Oil! On Monday, between lunch and work you scribble on a visitor card. Your boss says you are mad. On Tuesday, your vintage typewriter rattles against the dead silence of 2 am. Your partner screams “Is your tablet snoozing ?” On Wednesday the flamboyant tree is your writing-mate. On Thursday evening at the intellectuals’ club, you howl that Elliot is a genius and Wordsworth, outdated. Craftsmen of words spit protest. On Friday, overwhelmed, you skip your poetry reading  session  at Blue Tub Café. You curl on the sofa with The Four Quartets. You  swallow invisible tears. Saturday is submission day to journals. An editor summarizes your five poems as “meditative blossoms of bliss”. Another one label them “Worse than a shopping list.”  “Doomed or blessed” You whisper. And you go on. Yes you keep up the ride. You are a poet. You  know your mission and destination. 

You churn the seasons. You are 60. Your grey hair demarcates you from others. The smeared rouge on your lips intimidates youngsters and fellow writers. They see a new You. You are the winner .  Yes  you are the national poet of the year. Your native island accolades you. This time it’s  no fuss award based on genuine labour. “Congratulations” echo in your life. You smile non-euphorically. Your  soul is deaf and dumb to  the Mundane.  In the blissful solitude of your creation -room, you wipe the lipstick , wraps the golden shield in red satin. You grab a blank round  canvas .  A 0.5 drawing pen masters you. At the back of the canvas boldly you write 

“Me –Nothing – Reborn”. You touch (/circle)the zenith of humility.