Books, oh so wonderful to read
Words apon words
Stories within stories
History lays within each page
Unfolding to the next text
Each page a beautiful mix of literature
Pages wielding the sword of suprise
Never knowing how the story will unfold
Every twist and turn of circumstances
Has me twirling my hair in suspense
Drawing me close to the end of each test
To flip the page to the next

Last night,
I hugged my favourite book as I went to sleep.
"What an odd thing to do"
my mind said,
But I've never felt so close to myself,
as I did,
that late night.

"The fountainhead" the cover read
as it lay right next to me, on my bed.

When your heart races,
Rushing out of a dream,
And words leave spaces
And lines in between,
Where your heart heals
To be shattered again,
Like oceans surreal
Once the reverie ends,
Frantically you strain
To let yourself sink,
With a mind soiled, stained,
And brimming with ink.

Must have seen you in a field,
the trampled grass your bed,
your eyes fixed on the sky,
and the sky hanging on blooming fire
and leaves of ashes eloping with autumn–tainted summer.
You didn’t stir,
if not for the fence time drove into the paper soil in between us the song of chaos will probably sing it’s ominous song in my ears.
Not an inch, did you move.

Your thoughts might have been that of your mama, on her porch steps for the hundreds of dinner that waited cold for you that year.
Your papa must have passed a ball to a glove without a hand to hold it up.
Your dear Anna must have been trembling as her heart skipped a beat reading letters written open-endedly.
The hills around you stood mortally wounded, weeping for their trees, still you slept in between those pages while your home collected dust on the shelves that so few of us care to visit.

Still your eyes were fixed on the sky. Unmoved by clouds. Unperturbed by dying sunshine. Shards and shrapnel of ideas burrowing deeper. I knew your lips wanted to part and utter wilting words,perhaps the heaviest word to bear—goodbye.

War has always been indifferent to life.

Each book is
A portal to another
World,where dragons
Take flight and heroes
Fight.lost in tales,we
Drift away,to a realm we
Wish we could stay.
In each page,new tales
Unfold.From ancient lands
To dystopian worlds.
A whisper calls from
Realms afar,opening the minds
Own doors.And when the
final page draws near,
A wish appears so bright
and clear.To turn the
pages fresh and new
And dive once more
into the light.
to read anew
with open eyes and feel
the thrill of each surprise.
Though stories end,
the wish remains,
To start again,
unbound by chains,
To feel the joy, the rush,
the excitement
As if I’m reading for the
very first time.

life will offer smaller moments.

bite sized pieces of joy
meant for those who struggle to find the bigger ones.

like a piece of chocolate
our grandmothers
swear they will not give us
but surely will.

a person
at just the right time.

a book
that says just the right thing.

a song  
with the perfect melody.

or a film
with the right amount of humanity.

it’s the smaller things
that life gives us.

the smaller things
are the ones we must cling to.