The Bookshelf

Onto the bookshelf I see

Multiple genre books aligned

From where should I start to read

The introduction and preface signed.

The words are the spirit of poets

And authors,

Lingering from one page to other

Grooming of words to form sentences

Compiling vivid ideas and references.

The imagination drawn to asymptote

Of reality,

Compiling clones of fiction printed,

Or maybe a non-fiction described with clarity,

Hoards of copies ready to be minted.

The autobiographies persuading to

begin from scratch,

The mystery inkling a catch,

While romance checks us in to

A reverie estate,

Horror succumbs us to our quilt

and beds.

Onto a bookshelf I see

Stories multiple with glee

Where the soul wears the attire of peace

Halts the rush in our lives to ease.