Burn

What scenes of future a librarian forsees

in the pyre of his life's work?

When page by page, a library collapses,

what anguished oath drowns in his tears?

Tamil newspapers, Kannada books, holy literature,

burnt that day

- and were soon replaced.

Society's vengeful mercy.

Yet, "books once burnt,

can never be read,"

Brittle remains and a soot-stained face

are all that's left of the tragedy.

That a roadside space for Kannada, English, all languages alike

would offend flames two-storey high.

When the ancient museum of Alexandria burnt

Even it managed a stunted life.

The above poem is for the NaPoWriMo2021. 

On April 9, a roadside public library in Mysore, owned by a 62-year-old daily wage worker, was burnt down allegedly because of linguistic differences between the owner and the miscreants. People sympathetic to the incident immediately sent money and books to rebuild the place. 

The above poem is a result of my interview with the aged man who said he'd build back the library from scratch. Make what you will of it.