Shelf life: Scent of unopened pages
Within pages of a book,
Knowledge lies as a nursery bed
of spinach awaiting transplant,
Amidst thousands of books,
lies a book with a shredded
cover but filled with alluring
words that blooms like tulips,
words that soothe the heart,
words that ignites a flame that
never fades, even when the book
dies, it lives. Each paragraph, a
route to discovery, each page, a
journey to a new city, the last
paragraph, a start of an untold
story
The library, a home for books,
not home enough for all books,
but a house for some books,
yearning to explore new souls.
Days pass, nights pass, weeks pass
months pass, years pass but no one
cares, all are reluctant to read a
book laying between dust but
caught between dreams.
It lies on it shelf, awaiting
rediscovery or bid it worth
farewell.