In a gloomy closet, in a quiet hall,
Onthe shelves *BOOKS* were dying all.
No, they weren't bad,
But people simply forgot them that is sad.
Hidden in the "Internet" distances,
They were simply no longer read for instance.
The quiet pages turned yellow, yet,
Where the wisdom of all centuries is kept.
And without human love assist
The bindings breathed dust.
The books were kind, naive, not smart;
They didn't know that they were no longer loved.
They kept waiting, waiting, waiting,
Human hands remembering,
And at night they dreamed of faces,
Those who bent over the pages,
The light of a cozy lamp high up
And apple juice half empty cup,
That splashed on an open sheet.
A dried, forgotten flower- floret
A theater ticket that was a bookmark,
A fingerprint from chocolate dark,
And flocks of ticks-marks -
Traces of thoughts, secret marks,
Left in pencil at some places.
"Oh, how good it actually was!" -
They sighed.... And outside the window
A wretched world drank with a ladle
"Vidos" from a virtual "figs",
What the hell, brothers, books,
Where stupidity is in full swing everywhere!
In a gloomy closet, in a quiet chamber
On the shelves *BOOKS* were dying...
They sighed.... And outside the window
A wretched world drank with a ladle
"Vidos" from a virtual "figs",
What the hell, brothers, books,
Where stupidity is in full swing everywhere!
In a gloomy closet, in a quiet chamber
On the shelves *BOOKS* were dying there…
-
Author:
Ksey_Gan (
Offline) - Published: February 19th, 2025 18:28
- Category: Sociopolitical
- Views: 5
Offline)
Comments1
No one reads anymore. I love reading but even I read less than in the past. I have many books that I still haven't read. This poem speaks to this a sad set of circumstances all too true. Very nice
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