Yellow-paged love

I find you to be demanding today. Demanding to be eternally read and remembered, while thousands more continue to be born and bred, taking up shelves in bookshops and libraries that I may never get to see, touch or smell. Pages unflipped, will yellow before the dust settles. I find you to be wanting today.... Continue Reading →

Reading, Writing and Growing Up

My grandmother was a collector. She collected stamps, coins, postcards, letters, souvenirs, photographs, diaries and books. I was not allowed to touch any of that. At the most, she'd let me play with her jar of coins under supervision. But her books were never off limits. They were mine for the taking. She was an... Continue Reading →

Writing

She wrote of war Boxed in Within the four walls Of her book-filled room. She spoke of death Like she knew Something about it That others were blind to. Her frail body supported Her eyes, bold and fierce As she embraced the grey In a world of black and white. With her words alone Drop... Continue Reading →

Reading

The smell of dust clung to the room while they sat back and stared at me. I think I almost saw them pout. Or maybe that was just me. With every step, a tiny convolution took shape. One that brought back memories of  pages yellow and white. Black symbols afloat, mingling in and out of... Continue Reading →

Books

At the end of Each hagridden day, I came to you Seeking a quest, To look forward to. You, I opened, To that page Which held me last. Being released into A yet other world A megacosm That never failed me. In the hope To never return, I read on.

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