The wait at the library...

The greco roman columns...
The ceiling white with brown colored beams
Crisscrossing like figures from geometry text...
The long old rock solid tables...
All smell so much of them...
The great men and women...
Who chose the way to a vocation...
So self possessed thing...
And nourishing too...

Here time even leaves all her work....
She doesnot go to ring the bell...
Or hurries around...for no good...
Here time also reads...
And sometimes she writes her mind...
Her wishes and secret desires
Which she scarcely let out...

Yes!
Waiting at a library...
Is like living in with Time...
A different version of hers...
Who is so quiet...
Rooted...
A meditative soul perhaps
Of a restless being...

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