THE PLEAD...

 





                                                     My papers lie torn to pieces

Waiting to be perished under the natural forces

My works, My lifeline

My dear passion

 

How they got turned

Turned with the wheel of time

I used to have a covetous position

But now, who cares

 

Yes, who cares a writer?

They don’t want our works

They don’t read

 

There was a time

A time when we were considered great

They ‘d read our works

They ‘d travel to our world

 

But now!

How I wish I was in the past

I wonder

If there will be a time like that ever again

 

I fear a time

My hands tremble

A time when newer children

Don’t know what books are

 

I fear its arrival

An arrival so near

It can happen maybe today

Or maybe tomorrow

 

Oh no!

It is nearing

I pray I leave this world

Before I see the world like that

 

I wish

I plead

I pray

Please at least in my next birth I want to be in the time when people used to read.


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