Waste Paper Basket Poem by Akhtar Jawad
Waste Paper Basket
And what else is the world?
A magazine published by the nature!
Writers send their short stories,
poets send their poems,
editors sort out the better ones,
and publish it, but most of the writes
are thrown in the waste paper basket,
below the table,
in the morning a sweeper comes,
takes many poems and stories with him.
And when chief editor calls a meeting,
to discuss the reasons as to why magazine
is not getting the sufficient number of adds
the poor editors just read names
of the writers and poets,
and if these names are familiar to them,
they keep their works
and throw the rest in basket for the sweeper.
They have to do their home work,
to find excuses for decreasing popularity
of the magazine.
A few editors are fired,
A few new appointments are made.
But the commercial world is running
in the same old manner,
and it will run like this,
until nature throws it in a waste paper basket!
The only difference I see,
The chief editor of the magazine is also dispensable.
But chief editor of the world is not
as he is the owner too!
The chief editor of the magazine is also dispensable. But chief editor of the world is not..... / So stark and so true. I must thank you for sharing the reality in the form of this very well articulated imagery presented in the poem. Incredible one.
Things go like that, especially in our times.Truely said.
Well put & nicely written, I don't bother sending my poems to anyone. Have you published any?
When our writings turn obsolescent, they will naturally go to the waste paper basket. But new gifted writers will appear and our place will be taken by them. Thus the publication will go on uninterrupted until something crucial happens! Interesting metaphor!
A very interesting analogy, well written. Although I think the chief editor of the world right now should not only be fired, he should be hanged
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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5/19/2024 5:46:54 AM # 1.0.0.1119
A sense of high commercialism ruins everything, from our lives to our literature. Everybody nowadays are running after only those things that can be sold, and sold for a good price. I wish people understood that chasing after their ridiculous greed they are throwing away emotions and human virtues into a wastepaper basket.. What for? ? Tao take the money with them in their graves? ? If only they could, but in the land of the deads gold has no value. Thank you for sharing Akhtar sahab. A very important poem, one I hope many people should read and understand the message of..