Monday, 4 February 2013


                             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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