Whiff of its pages; dances with each flip
Old or new, the scent lingers up to my sleep

Like a brewed coffee in a wintry afternoon
Aroma that kindles the fire of fascinations

It whispers something on the prologue
And wanders even in the synagogues

Leaving an epiphany ethereal for a stranger
Befriending people both in love and in anger

Saving graces in diverse phases
Forgetting my name in some instances

Letting the feelings collapse in my hands
Journeying in a distant and new land

Yes, voices could be painted in a room
At the shelves of a nocturnal book worm





Photos are from .


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