Books

Books are the smooth metaphors of life

One sometimes wonder,

If these mysterious forms of art are tangible

What you are holding, the pages printed with words

Is that really a book

Or is it a place of a fantasy.

When you spend more than a day

On a single piece of work

You have been tricked by the deceitful illusion

Of the fantastical world that books bring

You have given up to the hoax

Thinking that you are in a different realm

The theme and the tone of a novel,

Whether comforting, enchanting, enigmatic, insincere, or distracting

Continues to glorify and feed the needs of many

Books are like a long lasting friend

A helium balloon that you would never let go,

The colour of reflection on a soap bubble,

And a plant with both flowers and thorns.

Books may get torn apart

The pages may become loose,

But the experience that a single book brings

Is a conundrum that extends a life time.