By Nawmi Khandokar

O thou son of Nicomachus, luminary of life.
Credos of yours did earth glorify,
Verse from thy lips gifted you fame,
Hold you as philosophy’s giant .
Coronate you where black blood makes surge,
Of intellects, of young philosophers,
Who seek truth, purity, and virtue.
But look now, what have you done,
Thou did come to literature, wrote Poetics,
Not being transparent, with low analytic?
Was so necessary?
Why did thou Aris?
To let them know what was unknown?
To prove them that you are flawed?
Being a classist a trifle flaw?
You think that!!
Thy wit then made you fool.
Thou knew the life, failed the men to know.
Aye, observed life, now life observes you,
Through literary critic!
Being a classist, being a cruel
All are same.
Nay, similar to pure blindness.
The tragic hero thou paint supreme,
The hero but proved you villain.
Don’t you realize?
Alas, what a deceiving wit,
That made you blind.