lame thing over finer things

The universe has showered wondrous things
All of them—except his eyes—
Are the lives of starry nights.
They (his eyes) are dull and blunt
Who shall want their world to be drab?


A picture of his face is not worthy of this pen’s ink
Nor this stained paper from my old years.
The universe has given us wondrous things
All of them are marvelous and fine
Except him—my own world I named ‘life’.

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