Silence in the knowledge,
Knowledge in the silence,
Hours of science, medicine and art.
A whisper, a sneeze, a cough and a breeze,
Dead quiet pervades in this
pantheon of glass and concrete.
Keyboards go click with the creak of a chair,
Occasionally the tinny sound of drums
Permeates the air.
The scratch of pen on paper goes hand in hand
With the flicker of changing pages
But this is not a carnival, no,
It is a place of worship
A towering athenaeum
Complete with ministers of multiple creeds.
Glued to books, glued to screens,
writing fervently in chase of dreams.
If these walls could talk
It’d never keep quiet in here
About those who’ve passed through
The famous, the academic,
The lauded, the obscene.
Bowing before desks,
Thousands drink in the mana of wisdom,
Periodically interrupted by a dull lift bell.
Collective cognition is fraught with
and doubts about if this is the correct doctrine,
Or if that is perhaps the dogma
one should have pursued.
But we sit in silence and plough on
Inside this basilica of enlightenment
Where the only prayers that we can find,
Are the ones between the pages
Between the lines
Between the shelves.