The Joy of Reading

The joys of reading, inexplicable I glean

A private source of pleasure and harmony

The words dance, frolic and play

Breathed life into by the reader of the day

They accompany me during lonely waits

Veil me away in crowded trains

 

I find myself in books I must admit

Collecting pieces of myself along the way

Bits and pieces on every page

You suddenly realise how you were made

From the words you read and the thoughts they create

 

Uncanny to see your feelings on paper

Like an x-ray of your soul, just a little clearer

 

Pen and paper, the power they wield

More potent than the sword and shield

Words cut deeper than the sharpest blade

And keep you safer than the toughest plate

 

The joy of reading only stays

Never can it be taken away

Dissonant

They say your eyes are windows to the soul

But I stare straight into hollow vacancy

The frequencies you unknowingly send me

Rebound off walls of irregularities

Forgive me, I’m sorry

Condescending I don’t try to be

 

Your lips move, and strings of words flow

But the meaning they carry, more than the dictionary shows

Shocked, appalled, taken aback

It punishes my mind with intolerable cracks

Maybe it’s because I hope what I see

Isn’t the same when my reflection looks at me

Fire

The flames danced to an insidious choreography, deliberately devised to prevent its sole audience from escaping.

People die from fires in 2 ways:

1. They get burned by the flames.

2. They lose in the battle for oxygen(not scientifically accurate).

My mind searched for a way out desperately, bombarding into walls at every turn it takes. Trapped. The immensity of the heat blurred my vision. My eyes teared to wash out the foreign dust particles. I felt my windpipe constrict slowly as it slowly dries up. Moisture, as life too, was being sucked out of my body.

I felt pathetic. The flames were seemingly mocking at my distress, taunting me to find a solution when there is none.

A minute opening. I saw it. Not big enough for me to get through untouched by the fingers of the fire, but large enough to be worth an attempt. I planned my steps in my head before acting.

A moment of hesitation. To go or not? My thoughts concentrated on the fleeting invitation. It felt as if they materialised into some sort of guiding beam. Meandering through and out of the fire.

I made a choice. I went.