Here I am, wandering aimlessly
Through the boxy confines
Of a city I don't recognise any more.
Past garish crowded malls
Past empty parks and playgrounds
Past people measuring my worth.
Past a sad little photoframe shop
Lost to digitalisation
I walk, steeped in ennui.
And then I see it
An oasis in this dreary desert
A quaint little bookstore.
I open the door and walk inside.
The fresh fragrance of new books
Greets me with love.
Bright sunny pages of
Travel books wave to me,
All the way from Across The Globe.
Then the love stories filled
With eye-to-eye, broken promises
And happy endings.
Then I hear that secret sigh
Of lovers wrapped in each other
Undisturbed, in the shelf at the corner.
On the left, the sharp scent
Of mystery. On my right,
The apple red lipstick of chicklit.
I can taste the fear and
Panic, as I breeze past
The Horror section.
And then I feel a pang of
Nostalgia when my eyes
Glance at the Children's books.
My city has changed,
I have changed.
But I am glad that
No matter what changes
How books make me feel-
That'll never change.
YOU ARE READING
NEPENTHE
PoetryHi there! The word NEPENTHE means anything that induces forgetfulness of sorrow or pain. I, for one, believe that little things like smiles, my mother's comfort food and long walks are the best forms of nepenthe around. These poems celebrate the s...
