Wastepaper

An old man for his bread selling waste papers, Standing on the road with a hand driven cart, Bundles of lies in old and stale newspapers, But hidden below lied a few truths, works of art, Selling all Science, History, fictions and Philosophy, Side by side books on religion and pornography, Though with half eyes on pornography I had a look, Ignoring all my eyes stuck on a too old torn book, The opening and ending pages of this book were lost, Perhaps a book on how started the human life, The ancient history and that too, in fog and frost, Nothing I could grasp except a husband and a wife. I purchased that book and brought it at home, I thought and thought and added opening pages, How happy I was, as if I had conquered the Rome, I dreamed and dreamed and added ending pages, And one day I was sold to the insects of my grave, My soul, now a vagabond, visited the wastepaper seller, Surprised between religion and porn was placed the knave, One was purchasing an incomplete book. May he do better!