Shaw`s dramas with long prologues and epilogues
give out egoist smell of a know-all playwright....
the god of physics shouts oracular words
about the infinity of humans` stupidity....
Tagore patted on very few green-horn backs
and tore apart the next forerunner Jibananda Das.
Yeats claimed his poems are not for all;
egoist souls marry to bigger challenges
and produce prodigy offspring.........
they are their rivals
they love to see themselves
better every hour
better than themselves
as they were in the last hour!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem