>≫≫Wisdom Poem by Abdul Wahab

I start writing up
But never reach to the deep of my heart
Instead I am led to come to touch with a basket
Full of of technique of the art
I stitch a garland out of them and put it around my neck
No transformation has taken place
Inside I remain the same person
Though I learn a lot
And add up more to the account of my knowledge
But they are not actually related with life and death
Nor even they are in any way existential
In fact they are arrogantly intellectual
Material of several books
And I keep writing one after another like a fool
Without knowing that I know nothing.
As knowledge is an entity which you can gather
As much you want yet you remain ignorant
In reality this is innocence
You may know nothing but have reached to a point
At which everything known
And this is wisely called wisdom.