It appeared on a cold winter night
Of dreary sides and twisted rights.
An illuminating space or a room it seemed,
But getting inside, the mystery revealed.

Aisles so long of silenced pages,
Each book carries guilts in stages.
I walked towards the extreme right,
Reading the pages in the moonlight.

The first book that caught my eye
Was of a friend's unsaid goodbye.
Maybe they drifted apart, I thought aloud,
Walking ahead, I couldn't help but frown.

In the next book, a mother wrote
Apologies to her son who lived abroad.
I stepped inside a dreamy corner,
Walking slowly, I drifted further

In the forgotten shelves
Where confessions stayed,
I found yet another page
Kissed red with words unsaid.

The familiar verses I once knew—
I closed the book as sadness grew.
I reached the end, the books vanished.
I wonder if I’ll walk once more,
Through silent shelves and whispered lore.

                                               ~Enviara 🤍