____”Librarians much prefer reading to the “infantry”
rather than becoming the infantry in a cultural war.”
With the sound of one small snick it begins.
A tiny fiction struck by hand across the truth,
like red phosphorous on a matchstick it conjures
A devil’s firework of intimidation from the
once inert ground of sulfur, KClO3, and silica.
Scratch and its head spews fear
Jagged as a swastika. Sparks explode
thermals of smoke, slice through bindings,
tear quotes from context.
Stoked by the storm of pages, quartos
crumble under the acrid stink of matches.
Edges singe. Books blacken, and sanity
Sucks like oxygen from rational discussion.
Whole futures die in the heat of censorship.
Thought itself dissolves in ashes of silence.
Safety matches are only 'safe' because
they don't spontaneously combust. But
all it takes is one brazen lie to ignite a mob.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
This is an existential reality poetically stated.