One can barely understand a poet’s mind

I have the right to write, for I am a poet,
Writing such things has now become a habit.
I wrote about love,
I wrote about friendship,
I wrote about heaven, I wrote about hell,
I wrote about the people I knew, I wrote about the people I didn’t,
I wrote about angels, I wrote about demons,
I tried to add a fragrance that freshens.
Some liked it and some didn’t,
Some thought me to be a champ at this and others thought me to be an infant.
They thought that they understood what I really meant,
But I would still say,
One can barely understand a poet’s mind.
The praises made me feel good,
The critics compelled me to do better,
Some even said that my work was a complete failure,
But all this made me abler.
But I would still say,
Understanding a poet’s mind is no child play,
For the poet doesn’t know what he really wanted to say.
I still don’t know that will you be able to understand,
This piece of work or not,
But I think that my appreciators and my critics,
Would be again up to the mark.
With this I end yet another poem,
Hoping that you would be able to understand this one as well.