Whenever
I pen a poem
My
mom,dad and big brothers too
Are
all my Socrates.
Even
though, like Plato
No
guts do I possess
To
see my poesy turning to ashes
Nor
have I
The
courage to chide myself
On
the charge of my distance
Far
far from the truth, thrice removed.
For
in the depth of my heart
Musing
in deep meditation
Aristotle
is in me
Inspiring
me my pen to poem.
Tr:
L. Birendrakumar Sharma
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