Bookish


When the air is so filled with songs,
And the flowers with scent of spring
When knowledge of civilisation bring,
I turn to streets walked by my past,
Where in books old covered with dust,
Memories stay so beautifully written,
Memories of finding her, Eidyia of my heart,
How she took me to go hunting for words,
From Lotos eaters to Dubliners,
How in silence of library, like a church,
For the scripts and slokas,  I made a search,
How through pigeon holes on the wall,
Sun rays on hands and paper slanted, did fall,
And how the aroma of books, napthalene balls,
Filled the rooms of our hearts that Spring, a windfall...

I walk through those streets unscrolled,
Calligraphic letters where reveal stories untold,
The coffee shop at the corner, a century  old,
There still I find derelict, motheaten, cold,
There I remember by writings on the wall
Youths with fire in heart how added numbers to the toll,
There I recollect, surprised and dismayed
How the city had grown from her days bullet ridden, frayed,

From fratricide, I move on,
To the passages, alleys, where literature
Boldly propagation of humanity declares,
And Eidyia, there I discover, again,
From Oceanus and Tethys, risen.

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