Friday, 25 June 2010

While sitting in the Mc Clay Library

When the world is stung silent,
The corridors echo with
Stories and histories
Of kings, queens and nobodies,
And the papyrus,
Ancient as the trees,
Sings its whispering melodies,

And the lyre of celestial boughs
Bow down in a curtsey
As the meagre perceptions
Of the frail human mind
Grasps a minute bit of
The vast empire of narratives,
And is


Susan Deborah said...

Ah, Mc Clay with the man in green, pixalleted and open-mouthed.

They call it the new library and one cannot but be overwhelmed with the library.

Joy always,

indi said...

What a poetic feeling. It is sad that we don't have any libraries that leave you with such a feeling. I lived the poem, sayuja. Love.