Sevenfold

In the wake of disaster,
there will always be a little girl
moving her lips softly,
teaching herself how to read.
The sky melting tar
and inky speechlessness,
there will be a boy,
leaning comfortably against
a richly filled bookshelf.
When death seems to be the only nicety,
when a nod and goodbye becomes everyone's
first hello,
when silence overtakes a civilization,
i find solace in scratchings on paper
rather than markings on knuckles.
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Comments
Good write, My applause & My vote
Regards
WILLIAMSJI MAVELI
thank you so much !