In the forests of literature there are so many trees!
Each is a work of art and part of a broader tapestry.
Some literary works are like cedars towering in the heights.
Others resemble dwarf bonsai, easily unnoticed by passers by.
Some sprout as magnificent ferns with verdant canopies.
Others display gaudy fronds unfurling mysteriously.
All these, however, share a common fate:
in societies where everything is justified by profit,
the chain saws of commercialism
and bulldozers of industry never wait.
Each piece of literature is a commodity destined for market shelves.
What doesn’t sell is soon composted:
words rot quickly without pelf.
||What good are such lamentations?
||Yeah. Isn't it naive to expect commercialism to disappear?
||Don't be poisoned by cynicism. Ideas that seem naive at first often change history.
||Ha! Who said "history" is a single story? I think of it as a collection of stories that often change.