Have you ever smelt magic
On the pages of books?
I find it tragic:
Hundreds of blank looks,
Thousands of meaningless thoughts are dumped
Into this garbage can, that you made out of your head.
You are telling me, that you're surviving,
But you're already dead.
One girl told me she knows nobody who reads for fun.
And I recalled my recent thought -
Sometimes you friends, your family, your love are gone!
And there is nobody to help you make decision,
The ones that've always been behind your vision
The ones, that through the paiges
The ones that made me so uncertain whether I was right or I was wrong;
The ones, that just like all the things that killed me -
Made me strong.
In all the languages that I have ever learned.
And Harry was Гарри,
And Bradbury was Брэдбери,
But they all were on the same stage
When it came to the last page.
Just like the victories were standing on the piles of the dead troops
Our centuries are crawling through the corpses of our books.
And the scariest fact is that unintelligence is
Intentionally chosen by the youth around us.
And we start closing our minds,
Forgetting, that the only thing that blinds, except
Death, love and a sharp knife
Is the lack of imagination.
You don't need me to stab your eyes to feel what it is to be blind.
Just heat your shelves up to 451, enlighten your night,
And you are done.
It's because your mind is on fire.
And movies, and games are not the water!
Maybe all you need is some ink from the chapters of Harry Potter?
Or a glass of wine made out of dandelions?
You complain that you're lonely,
But listen to this silence!...
...in your soul. You consciousness, your body, your brains,
However you want it called.
If the books are thrown into hell for a precious bit of heat -
It is better be cold.
Everything it takes to change the world
Is buried under the layer of dust on your book-shelf.
Untangle from the knot of wires,
Be ready for magic.
It will show itself.