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Not one knows me
Nor I them.
But not only here,
All over the world
Billions of people
And I don't know a single one of them
Nor does even one of them know me.
China, Japan, India
A whole continent
Trillions of people
Unknown to me and I to them
Except in this little place
I call home!
The people in books
Are not flesh and blood
Have no substance
But I spend hours with them
And they keep me company
On lonely nights
And are forgotten
As soon as the book is closed!
Is this called "knowing"?
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