The books are being stacked against the stone walls for long now;
They are now feast for termites and others living–who lives by having papers as meals.
The walls are marked by dots and holes–some’re taped by papers, some’re not–
Creating a dotted collage on the mud floor.
The hands that are needed to turn the pages,
The fingers that are needed to be drawing or writing gibberish on the walls–
Are holding butts of Kalashnikov or AK-47 or pulling the ring…
Are we taking care of our own?
The words that evoke thoughts,–
(The thoughts) That’re needed to be appreciated are being condemned…
The Elder who should speak of this, spoke, but, for sentence…
The mass that is in need of the awakening, remain slept except Few…
The weekly blog goes missing,–
The blogger is (though) not missing–
She, alias he, (at that time) becoming kindle in a…
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