Books

Books. God! I know it will sound stupid and a little mental too, but the love I feel for books borders only next to my family. Books are such dear things, so uncomplicated, pure and unadulterated. Sheaves of pages, immersing in it a reality which is real only to your eyes, spinning tales heard, unheard, sad, sweet thrilling and numerous stories conceivable to human mind. It may be written by an author but on print they become your personal little worlds, whose creatures you realize(in your mind) with your imagination sort of like coloring books I mean that they are your colors and you always find something of yourself between pages ,in lines ,in phrases ,in characters ,in situations and even if you don’t ,you’ll still be able to discover that there are as many worlds as there people, worlds which are different ,interesting and much more. Though I claim to be an avid book lover and reader ,I haven’t read as many I would love to(but I hope to).The few I have read have compelled me to profess my undying love for them here, thus these lines(Not a new one):

Empty Notebook



White pages ,tell me a story or two.

Stories with sweet beginnings ,and divine endings ,

Filled with deep hearts and unbroken promises.

Of  bright moons at night,

of  blue waters smoothening gravel in rivers,

of  strong hands kissing the soft ones,

And then embracing each other.

Of never having to say goodbyes,

Having to lay in a beloved’s arms as the days go by.

White pages .tell me these stories

So my dreams may come true,

Tell me these stories ,through and through.