By: Mawuena Quist
Perceive the ancient fortress of words
An abode where the archives of civilisation rest.
Not mere decoration of beauty,
But a mingling of chaos and grandeur,
A monument shaped by many architects –
No rival beauty can compare.
It is the imperceptible weight of wicked ideas,
Laid brick by brick in silence.
A subtle course of magnanimous intent,
Drawing eyes to its towering form.
Castles in the air dissolve to dust,
Yet here they linger –
Curiosity binds the pedantic to dream.
Those who wield the sword trace it back to here.
Those who live by the book find no other home.
It is a vast conglomerate of the unexpected,
Its alluring essence choosing none,
Yet embracing all.
No one owns it; each dwells on their own terms.
Some are born within its walls,
Only to be shown their doom.
For mirage is the inheritance of our age.
And so I stoop, with graceful pain,
To enter alone –
And leave my poem at its gate.