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.