an old manscript on wasteful civilisation...and a love poetry book...

Now, I'm pissed off,
Really feeling sick of love...
So opened an audit report
Of profit and loss...
The demand and supply
Curves moving up and down
I in microeconomics, tried  to find
Love, but got a deadly frown...
Took to another book
Thinking of having a different look
Of life through geography vast
But that reading didn't last
For long...as it was full of stones and delta lands
Pebbles,icicles,deserts,uneven sands...
There were volcanoes though...
Erupting hot liquid red molten forms
But they frightened me, took away all charms
Of reading a geography book...
So I the last row of the library took
Where old manuscripts were displayed
Manuscripts in archaic letters,
Manuscripts several thousand years ago made...

Picked up one with utmost care
So fragile, vulnerable one
On it some unknown person shared
Her thoughts on life and civilisation...
Her writing was somewhat esoteric
Carrying codes and several encryption
Trained a magnifying glass
And tried alphabetic permutations...
O what a challenge was it
To read someone sitting in a faintly lighted pit
And one by one decode her phrase
And I just lost the count of days...
But I was lost into the reading sure
Being engaged to something obscure
Her words were like moving to and fro
Lifting me up once, throwing me next to the hollow!
It was really a test
Of mind, soul and tenacity to digest...
Words and phrases so antique
Sentences full of magic trick!
But it was really such a different journey...
Like playing childhood's hide-n-seek...
Of moving around through unknown territory
Guided by some fanciful old story...
So like a curious kid,
I into the manuscript slid
Trying my best to understand
How civilization made barren land
Fertile only by efforts human...
How Rome was built and broken
By horses and beauty left shaken...
How primordial our values remain
How we put sobriety in masks vain...
We seem to be the most unscrupulous
Destroying ourselves every moment we pass...
But interestingly we also invent things
Promises, hopes, poetry-like lovable beings
But underneath we are so primitive
We fight, we kill, we knife, we deceive!
There are other stories of human deeds
Of vaulting ambition, bloody greed...
How we killed our own brothers
How we kept confined our fathers...
In dingy wasteful dark cells
With tragic endings, casting disastrous spells...

Reading all these hate stories
Of life full of blood and worries...
I again invariably took
A love filled poetry book!






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