From my childhood, I have been the child of
the sun. Without a sin, always livelihood. I
loved literature .. I mean I always read the
This was my tranquiliser, almost like an
I postulated it for depress,
Effusive as needed be I had to express.
Hilarious how at first it were words I used to
Or I suppose I unintentionally juxtaposed both,
words and my books.. I can't recall exactly
how it all began. But I can tell how it looks. It
is a haphazard hazel-shelf, an acervunile.
This is a saga, but I will expatiate.
To escape from gloom I locked myself in the
room, and read books.
I had hallucinations, but I kept on reading
books. Full of hegemony imaginations, I forgot
how to tidy. Idyllic, I only knew how to study.
Slept with books in my bed, some were pillows
for my head. Acervunile was a name I gave to
my bedroom. I denied my friend into the
room, we loomed all the gossip over the
Gosh I did not need any imbroglio type of
In the mornings I was always late for school,
some of my books were not seen.
They were not lost no, but hiding under my
I had books which are Ushers, they'd welcome
you the instant you entered the door,
Some are domates, you stamp on them before
you get on bed,
Some are stalkers, always peeping through the
window, it had seen that uncle who dated the
On my first collection I organised them A-Z,
but to my least expectation with lassitude I
sorted them into a mephitic Aevirtenal Zenith
Even though these books untidy my bedroom,
it is because of them that I'm Xenodochial,
literacy-wise and intelligent! I love my