(by Lalatendu Kabi)
The Lord, in His subtle artful play,
Has shaped our brains in His own way —
Each one stuffed with a different hue,
Of taste and thought, both false and true.
The wise keeps there books of finest kind,
New ideas crowding a noble mind;
While someone else, with a careless hand
Keeps torn old notes — like dust and sand.
Another stores up rice and peas,
Sweet pudding, cakes, delicacies;
Yet, some have stored not bread or grain,
But just cow-dung — and call it brain.
— Lalatendu Kabi 2019-12-29,12: 45
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
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