Claim
Once I didn’t think of writing a poem one day,
But a poem called me, in its own way.
If I capture the essence of simple speech,
Poetry punishes me, just within reach.
Let my poem be smooth and round like a bead,
Pure and clear like an autumn day’s seed.
If I flaw a poem with even a single stain,
It’s better to remain silent then.
Copyright © Aibek Kalmaganbetov | Year Posted 2025
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