Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Marmaelady Sep 21
The flip of a page sounds like
Yesterday's tunes
Haunting the remains of ancient runes
Of libraries snugged within our brains
Perhaps in a blissful yearning to be named
By its forgetful creator
And I prefer physical books indeed.

The smell of old books never ceases to capture me.
logolepsy May 2019
this is where you’ll find me~

behind the pages of an unfinished story

between the lines of bliss and misery

beneath the chapters of peace and tragedy
this is your misfit tryna get out of her comfort zone by starting publishing some of her musings
Vert Clair Apr 2019
I collect words like fine antiques,
Admiring the way this ancient lexicon rolls off my tongue,
The same way I’d admire how crystal candlesticks glow in the sun.
I create sentences like painters create art,
each syllable delicately placed,
Much like each individual paint stroke in Monet’s Japanese gardens,
Admired but never truly understood.
I cherish books like passions held close to my heart,
Comparing the glide of page against page as they turn in excitement
To the soft-lighted kisses shared in quiet moments,
Loved and filling my heart with contentment.
AMISHA Jul 2018
I don't love reading because it gives me an eternal pleasure. I love reading because it is a moment of discussion of my mind with my soul.

A.S.
SeaChel Jan 2018
I read far too much

to be considered a conscious part of this world.
AnxiousOcean Oct 2017
I was reading a book
I was Indulging the smell of its old pages
my imagination was ignited
as I ate every mere word it has
my eyes were healed
my mind was quenched
I was not me when I was walking the journey
and it’s a story that I hoped would never end
its covers conceal fragility
and the book sheltered me from reality
I was focused
I was bound to the book

lots of things had happened
and I was unaware
it was already afternoon
the flowers poured the summer’s snow
fogs devoured the pearls of the ocean
trees have lost all of its leaves
the bookshelf fell and got broken
my coffee became cold
and many more had happened
everything happened
I did not know
I was too busy
I was reading a book
and that book was you
Swim for deeper meanings
mj May 2017
I regard my attraction to language as an affair,
as a withstanding relation,
a product of indecorous communication.
This devotion has demanded a life of its own,
accepting my whole as its proxy.
Others won't understand this affinity.
They aren't familiar with the curving lilt of a domestic tongue,
Nor the taste of a verse fermented in the mouths of one's ancestors,
Surely not the stuttering moans of a mother dialect,
Yet the sharp sting of a jagged vernacular,
or the mastery and art behind the articulation of a single utterance.
This discourse developed over time,
I required maturation and growing before my notions aligned.
I felt eager upon observing the pervasive movements of great text
Which delivered a high known greater than ***.
It is true that I contemplated profoundly first,
before committing my desire and will to the whole of verse.
But now that my diction reflects the appeal of great literature and enamoring fiction
I couldn't be more satisfied.
Pallavi Goswami Jul 2016
If you were a glass of scotch,sans soda
sparkling like gem stones on rocky ice
or
A tiny shot of tequila,besieged
in a castle of glass,pleading
not guilty through out,
I could quaff you down
my parched throat, like
an elixir,stung
by short lived fearless wisdom.

But you are not.

You are a castle
amidst the infinite sea,
not made of glass,
concocted in layers,
masking the answers,to questions
i could never ask,
buoyant by wisdom hidden in your pillars,
resplendent by your tall embossed walls, with figures,
an index of its sagacity,
chandeliers hanging like words of all kinds,
enlightening the castle at its pilgrims appeal,with
right words,
wrong words,
sensitive words
and
insensitive ones,
So many words.

And I too wish to feel your embossed skin
through my fingertips,
with each flip,
gaining access to the your light.

I wish to stay afloat with you,
on your paras  undulating
like sea waves of a quiet night,waiting
for an eternal dawn of wisdom.

-Pallavi Goswami
My very important friend told me that i had not done a fair job with this poem and could do better. so , here i am attempting again, to gain the access to poems.  Your views on this are most welcome. thanks :)
Pallavi Goswami Jul 2016
You could be my glass of scotch,sans soda
sparkling like gem stones on rocky ice
or
A tiny shot of tequila,besieged
in a castle of glass,pleading
not guilty through out
and
I could quaff you down
my parched throat, like
an elixir,
stung by fearless wisdom ,but
just for tonight.

So, let me drink
you through words,
one at a time
   right words,
     wrong words,
         sensitive words
    and
   insensitive ones,
So many words.

So, let me taste
you through my fingertips,
taking down to you mine
through each flip, like
a token of appreciation, against
generosity bestowed,
none plundered.

So, let me drown
into paras, undulating
like sea waves, on seeing full moon.

Let me sink,and
get high on them, but
Forever!.

-Pallavi Goswami
Next page