Naive, I picked up a book
Daring it to evoke emotion;
Asking perhaps her pages to convey something, anything!
I’m a convoy on route
To promised lands different from my own.
A skeptic I am as I board this vessel,
I approach it like I do temples and shrines;
Quetioned it as I do the monoliths
(batttered and broken into familiar human forms:
how does it Symbolised divinity
And not natures unmarred parent stone?)
Thinking it could scarce evoke a reaction,
Let alone make me feel anything,
I approach it like the skeptic I am.
Instead I find myself turning pages
Angry, hurt, resentful and overjoyed
At characters that breathe only between
The spaces in my head.
I close it- yet like Pandora’s box
it’s a lost cause. I remember to go back and open it-
In keeping with the allegory-
HOPE: in the end is what remains.
Shayri 