Inanimate, yet an immortal
I speak without speakin’
needs no batteries, ne’er crashes
unless thrown into a corner.

When bound am of weight & texture
makin’ a firm grip, a pleasant read.
Nothing smells as good as a new me
mostly when you get your nose close
where you can still catch
an acrid tang of my glue.
And an old me? Peppery smell
the smell of knowledge, history n’ discipline.

Don’t let that Toy – that blinks ON & OFF
tell you otherwise, my place isn’t in a museum
but on the shelves of my significant halves
who make texts doctrines of law n’ regulations,
authors authority, print’d pages pearls.
Don’t let them hoodwink you
my place isn’t the tale of Typewriters or Dinosaurs
sincerely, I’ll ne’er die.

© Ugo Nkwoala | 2012 | All rights reserved.

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