The book



As I return from the day’s
Yet another walk,
Hearkening to the clarion call
Of the homebound birds,
The surging night,
And the bygone time,
Weigh upon me.

My hands look for a world
In Desperation,
Trying to take hold of that
That I often take refuge in.
Look into my tote bag
I carry over my shoulder,
You’ll know what I mean.

Oh, I live each day as it comes,
But in the book!
I go way beyond
The barriers, and
Every day bag and baggage,
Lurking far behind in the tunnels
Of deep meaninglessness.

This book, sometimes,
Is the divine incarnate,
Sometimes, it is, a cosmic expanse.
It is an epitaph of worlds gone by
As much as it is
A living stream.

As I turn another page
With eyes, now closed
But heart wide open,
The night lingers on.
For how long? I ask.
As mingled with hues
Of hopes and dreams,
Softly, the day scatters.



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