"I am a story of a book of love"

 

 I am A Story,

One, only I can dance.

Somewhere on some bookshelf,

I live for most , dusty and raw.

Sometimes a few pages turned,

Mis-read, mis-understood, mis-interpreted.

Something about the cover itself,

Non glossy or fancy, makes them think it ordinary.

Most of the times, 

The exhausting narrative 

Of this book of me 

Keeps them at bay. 

It’s too coloured with struggles, 

Too filled with blatant honesty of tears,

Over worded with pain guided with smiles, 

Loaded with silence, held in the joyous being. 

Earesed , several times over and still not right. 

Re- written, and yet not the saga experienced beyond my form.

But this is me, 

My narrative,

My book of me , 

The one I choose to write.

I sing my own language of alphabets and create its meaning.

I carry my own burdens and experiences in each sentence. 

I hold on and let go of my own dreams and judgements in each para.

I breathe my own chaos and calm in every chapter.

I come alive to my own shared energy with this existence. 

I become more of me with each experience of every word. 

I merge somewhere in the lines of this “book of love”.