Second-hand books

The existence of love is long gone.

From the world, it ceased to exist.

I heard that it still exists in the heavens

Though I never saw heaven

Nor the Hades

On Earth, “Hate” dominates the hearts.

Once I stop by a bookstore.

The dusty smell of books,

The rusty shelves around me

Told me a different story.

“The story of dying authors”

Though they are dying,

They kept their lives in books

They offered the chalice of love to me.

Americans and British

Russians and French

Indians and Japanese

Mumbled to me the secret of Love.

Through the letters, they showed me

Its undying essence of existence…

Though they are leftovers,

Still spreads the precious Love

They whisper,

“Love never fails, nor ceases to exist”

Through the dusty books

From the rusty shelves…