Ode To The Book - Poem by indiana pehlivanova
Oh, my dear poor book
I am sauntering on your dirty, scrappy
But full of music pages
Some of them are burned.
But others painted
And some of them are dizzy
Dizzy - from the smoke
From the smoke the wind is driving
From the crazy currents
From the train to China making rain
Until it arrives
I watch the rats
I want to touch them
With my hand but I can't
Reach so far
I watch you
On the kitchen
Floor. Maybe people
Are trying to learn how to cook
But they did take the wrong book!
Because there on page 52
I see a hole, dug deep into the ground
Filled with victims from the war.
I see a woman praying there - behind the yellow rug
Here - on the page thirteen - A few blue flames.
A seismograph is measuring the force
Of an Earthquake and there are fissures decorated
All around page two I can hear the winter
Bringing roses from page 106.
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