(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.
I would like to translate this poem