We stood tightly in the library
holding tight to our stories,
some unsaid
and some screaming loud from the roof of that
old library building,
which stands tall in the heart of the city
bringing solace to the crestfallen souls of the city.
No single voice is privileged over another
each has its own story
ready to scripted or dog-eared
by the other lonely soul
the lessons of life,
nicely tucked between those pages.
We sure will be wiser
the next time we read
from cover to cover
without getting lost between the pages.
A fleeting touch of these yellow pages
will instill a lifelong wisdom
to my withering soul.
I might be lucky enough to find those missing pieces
which will make me whole.
A broken spine and my tattered life
holds an uncanny resemblance to each other
earmarked with those soulless fingers
never to be visited again.
Oh! why these haunted alleys of this building
cuts me deep every time I visit
why do I leave impressions of my bleeding soul
on every page of every book
I come here to read.
Why every time I come to a missing page,
it seems like a piece of my lost soul?

[…] Lorraine Caputo Sayan Aich Bhowmik Niles Reddick Callum Beesley Ben Nardolilli Pratidhwani Biswal Megha Sood Stephen Venneman Adithya Potu L. Ward Abel DS Maolalai Michael A. Griffith Kara Goughnour Ahmad […]
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What a beautiful poem. Megha. The books, the yore and some untold stories beautifully captured. Bravo
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Thanks so much Shantanu for your kind words
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My absolute pleasure
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Gorgeous Megha! Congratulations!
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Thanks so much dear G
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You are welcome 😊
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Reblogged this on The Reluctant Poet.
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Thanks for the share Chuck
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Always love to share your posts with followers, My Dear!
xoxoxo
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