05/03/2026
The Silent Architect
Books! Books! Books!
How I love you,
The quiet guardians of all we know.
Yet I watch with a heavy heart As the world treats you like a chore, a part To be played only when the deadline nears, A desperate refuge for exam-day fears.
In boardrooms and halls, you are the last resort, The final witness in a closing court. Yet you are the genesis, the very root Of every milestone and every pursuit— From the pulse of politics to the soul of the creed, You planted the harvest on which they now feed.
In the homes you built, you find no rest, No shelf to lean on, no welcome guest. You gave them their comfort, their goals, their pride, Yet you’re shoved in a corner, cast aside.
I see the cruelty of the thoughtless hand: The jammed-in pencils where bookmarks should stand, The broken spines and the pages torn, Leaving you weary, ragged, and worn. You have no voice to cry out or complain, No physical tongue to speak of your pain.
They carry you loosely, exposed to the rain, Unaware of your tears or your silent strain. On slanted, broken shelves you must lie, While the world walks past with a careless eye. But in every classroom and lecture hall, You remain the backbone, upholding it all.
Oh, Books, do not worry; though you are small, I hear your silence, I heed your call. With my own little efforts, I’ll stand in the breach, To protect the wisdom you graciously teach
~ Brenda Namusabi
~ Information Scientist~
