A ghost raves in the library.

A ghost raves in the Library.

Something raves in the fritters of papers,
those musty,outdated history books
half moth eaten, half rat smelling stuff,
with dates of wars won and lost,
dusty journals torn asunder by hasty
hands of readers for whom it is a show,
norms followed more in violation,
than in volition and discipline,

Rape of the lock craves for Restoration,
to its neatly combed upper loft,
Paradise was Lost in the ugly syndrome,
Addison’s Spectator papers with mere
lookers on, some popping out,
Pride and Prejudice and Sense and sensibility,
Slammed and shattered into pieces,
Twentieth century dethroned into

Shaking rack of twelfth cantury,
A piece of cloth crumbled into
Squirrel like form, sulking
in a corner, once upon a time
for wiping, now weeping of disuse,
Something raves in the fritters of papers,
Something raves in the fritters of papers.