After the last post on the blog ( Thoughts to paper #1) ,a lot of things happened. First, I want to thank all of you because the blog hit 754 views, highest so far in a month on 31st October. I’ve made a few changes on the site too, I hope you notice. Another thing, I started the blog’s Facebook Page (click here to LIKE and get something worthwhile to read in your newsfeed). Also, I received my first ever certificate in poetry from Delhi Poetry Slam (The poem sent: Silence).

Reader in the days of yore 

I took a book from the bookshelf, the feeling of holding an old novel was now unfamiliar. I opened it, right in the middle, took a long, deep breath, letting the musty biblichor enter the nostrils and hit me with the  nostalgia of reading for long hours. The vivid memories of the infinite fantasy worlds, of magic and dragons, of love and romance,  of adventure and passion, of crime and suspense thrillers as well, it all came back. I went and sat on the couch, all set to read. Somehow, I couldn’t. I just could not concentrate anymore. Every other minute my phone buzzed, if not that, I wondered about the movies that I’ve decided to watch this weekend. If a book could talk it would say this to a former avid reader like me:


Hey there my old friend!

Remember the time we used to be close?

You held me close to your heart and never did you pretend

I used to make you smile when angry or morose


May it be the big fat giants or the deep dark caves

May it be the long lost treasure or the gruesome murder

We fought it all together, like pals, robust and brave

You were less a companion more a brother


Together we ditched time, eating chips with dips on a quilt

As the pages slipped through your fingers

You grew up wise, the half-read bookshelf is now a sight of guilt

After what it seems like ages,

I’ve now turned into a mere pile of boundless pages


I’m just a shattered soul with the scent of the old

Kids think I’m boring, I hear them snoring as I lay on the floor

I still have with me the stories, left untold

Alas, no one thinks I’m heroic anymore


Claim no reader like you to be avid

You avoid reading instead

I’m here waiting,  sitting on the cold shelf

In an old, dusty room in your house


I’m waiting for you to get old

For you to sit by the fireplace in an armchair

For you to remove that old crinkled bookmark at last

For the avid reader in you never actually ceased to exist

– Sam

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