A book without pictures
a poem which is a comment on Alice’s thoughts…
Alice, the little curious,
creative girl,
just before she followed
that white rabbit,
and spiraled down the hole
for a trip to that
Wondru Wonderland,
was sitting beneath a mango tree,
with her elder, mature — and (thus?)
dull, uncreative sister, who was reading
something, something -
a book with no pictures,
which made Alice think to herself -
‘What is the use of a book, a book without pictures?!’
I have also read the books
without pictures,
things deep and profound,
things imaginative and wonderful,
but black letters on white, off-white pages,
which are as they say like a black buffalo,
for one who cannot read.
They may contain truths,
but are still black letters,
on white, off-white pages
they may contain everything,
but they are in substance,
black letters on white, off-white pages…
© Manan sheel