The Bookshelf

I leaned back and rested on my armchair running my eyes over the bookshelf. Each book has a soul, and each soul has shed light, darkness, hope, sadness, and elation into my soul. A thousand souls talking to one soul in a unidirectional way.

It was a lazy day at office, zigzagging though the stairs at lunchtime and only to wait till 3 to drive back home. While driving, the scenic beauty and cherishing lingered in my thoughts. I knew the gate would be open. Climbing the stairs I pondered how to tell her a beautiful lie so that she would act surprised and then I could reassess the authenticity of the lie. Once the same haplessly slapped, I heard our kids making a mess downstairs and we both under the balcony with legs stretched and watching the red sky. The red sky took hues from a million souls and reflected the same back to the ones below. Sitting there with her near me, I whispered "What if the sky just says red?"

She replied, "Our sky always stays red" and her wide eyes closed for a moment, and she turned and looked me asking.

"Isn't it"

 The breeze was always strong in the evenings, waving her hair against my shoulder. Stay still and stay low only to witness the sky getting darker. Its dark and the soul is all lightening. The art of dreaming inside a dream of my own soul.

As I opened my eyes the sky, the hair, the car, the gate, breeze took their allocated places in the bookshelf and all those books looked too thick with added souls in them to tell me.

"The Sky still gets Red"