Known Unknown


Those words,
written on that wall,
I saw in my dream,
were known and,
unknown too,
they were crying out,
to be read,
crying out:
we are known,
we are words,
we speak,
read us.
Some were,
upside down,
some fading away,
some were aged,
some broken.
They were,
known and,
unknown too.
A glance: they were known,
the other: they were unknown.
They were crying out,
to be read,
I couldn’t.

I had met them,
somewhere,
perhaps,
in that book last night,
book,
which made me think:
What are these words?
Who made these words?

They died crying.
Alas!
I couldn’t read them,
I couldn’t fulfil,
their last wish:
to be read.
They died,
on that wall,
crying.
They died,
known,
unknown.

~Irfan Tramboo


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