A life’s edifice of virtues comes down,
By a minute slip of the human tongue!
Auto-biograph is an edited one;
Lest the world on your face should throw cow-dung!
Is there any sword without any edge?
And when swished about, it will cut some way;
Can one with ease get a bird from the hedge?
One wonders how on earth it went that way!
Man is always a fault-finder by birth,
Blaming the stars for his failures/ ill-luck;
When man just came, ’twas quite alright, our earth,
Until he spoilt it to see his Dame Luck!
Nothing appeases man’s curiosity,
That outgrows the time in intensity.
7-26-2000
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem