One’s life known is not authentic.

From no angle can one see
An object in full view.
The other side behind.
From no time can one see
An object in full growth,
The other growth away.
One’s biography is half cooked.
One’s autobiography is random cooked
Can history handed down be authentic?
06.10.2006

poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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