Wastepaper Poem by Akhtar Jawad

An old man for his bread selling waste papers,
Standing on the road with a hand driven cart,
Bundles of lies in old and stale newspapers,
But hidden below lied a few truths, works of art,

Selling all Science, History, fictions and Philosophy,
Side by side books on religion and pornography,
Though with half eyes on pornography I had a look,
Ignoring all my eyes stuck on a too old torn book,

The opening and ending pages of this book were lost,
Perhaps a book on how started the human life,
The ancient history and that too, in fog and frost,
Nothing I could grasp except a husband and a wife.

I purchased that book and brought it at home,
I thought and thought and added opening pages,
How happy I was, as if I had conquered the Rome,
I dreamed and dreamed and added ending pages,

And one day I was sold to the insects of my grave,
My soul, now a vagabond, visited the wastepaper seller,
Surprised between religion and porn was placed the knave,
One was purchasing an incomplete book. May he do better!