Seven Blind Men and the Elephant-Ii
My poem was rejected to be published
Not by an editor but a panel of editors,
Each of them commenting on a quatrain
Like too many cooks spoiling the broth.
I recollect an old fable of ancient India,
About seven blind men and the elephant,
Each of them approaches the elephant,
Touching the different parts of the body.
Depending on whether who touches what,
The trunk, the tail, the sides or the legs,
Each gives a different description of,
How an elephant looks as my poem did.
Critics blame all the same, never mind,
He who knows the way, but can’t drive.
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