Bookshelf
Bookshelf


Often, I lose myself
In the world’s most beautiful place.
Travel relish the experience
In my space.
That’s just near my bookshelf.
Un-dusted and unorganized
Ashamed self.
The books in it stare at me silently
From the shelf.
And smile at times, as I enjoy
Their different colours, sizes and scripts.
They allow me to peep
Into their world
Shallow or deep.
Many of them frown
For remaining unread.
Sadly, I blame my time shortage instead.
I want to read them all someday.
A book is a real friend, as they say.
Indeed, it fills me with joy.
I travelled, learnt, cried,
And experienced the emotions the same.
It’s really a gift
From almighty to be among them.