Borges’ labyrinth

Into this labyrinth, let us recall
Not the Minotaur at its center

But the blind poet’s death day,
And my birth day dating back

To hard boiled toffees we had
Distributed when kids in class.

We can’t find when blind poet
Was born in imagined library

Before blindness set in library.
A reader had recent birthday

And may have many for sure
If he rises from his blindness

To live memory of birthdays,
When kids made fun sounds

On birthday toffees he gave
As tongues would hit  roofs

Of their  mouths that knew
No Minotaur in major mazes.

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