Forgotten Books: A Poem
Cobwebs,
Deep cracks in the walls;
Several Flamboyant trees in the hallway:
The pine tree stands silently,
The branches are desolate;
The dejected leaves lie on the ground.
The flower in every flowerbed is sad.
The rustle of dry winds: the sound of changing climate;
Who is dead here?
Because, every morning someone cries from here,
Dust storm rises from here,
Coming here: lips start drying, Whereas from this height, the sea is visible.
Look: this big house is so orphaned;
Its bricks have been eaten away by termites, devils;
I had heard something about this desolate place
It seemed like there was a crowd in this courtyard;
Is this the same library where books ruled?
When earlier : People used to read books :
Books were written,
There were garland of letters everywhere here,
No trace of dust :
Knowledge was spread everyday in the halls
Words used to resonate in the sky, Lips never used to dry here,
Autumn used to grow leaves here, Flowers used to smile in the flowerbeds.
There was Elixir of life in the books of this library.
I have heard, ‘Those who read here never used to die.’
Whoever came here became light ,
Got recorded in the pages of history.
But after, today’s times,
Suddenly! the dusty books start screaming,
No one comes here to makes the garland of letters.