In the corners of old library,
lies a weathered, rustic shelf,
showing scratches, chipped at place,
have become dusty, and unkempt.
Yet, it had been home for long,
where I was kept, in my section,
along with my fellow companions,
waiting to be held, by claimants.
And I remember those times,
when I was loved and cherished,
changing hands, every weekends,
with gentle fingers, turning of pages.
The anticipation of our selections,
young minds, to older generations,
reading stories in hushed voices,
witnessing changes in their emotions.
And I lament, how deep I feel,
being admired, to almost forgotten,
getting further away, from the center,
as years passed, with newer arrivals.
And I yearn, waiting for so long,
someone to open, browse pages,
even though its wrinkled or stained,
I wish to see gleams, in their eyes...
And to feel again, revive my spirit,
with the warmth of human touch!!
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