Silence Of A Library

I see the library as a garden of books

That emanates fragrances of old and new books 

Like the fragrance of flowers of vivid colours 

The board 'Silence Please' welcome you

To the world of words full of peace 

But the hush talks do make unwanted noise

Some people forget that they're supposed to be silent

 Racks of books are arranged like skyscrapers 

Computer catalogs made it easy to locate books

Yet checking out similar books in those racks 

Give the pleasure of finding something precious

The searching for books on ladders is dangerous

But it is an adventure inside a library

The eyes of the book searchers glee when they find

The dear book they have been looking for long 

Then you see countless people totally immersed 

In the books as if they're seeing visuals live

I find the library the best place to read a book

Without worrying about time or social media

The silent reading room is like a heaven for readers

Pin drop silence, and you can hear your own heartbeats 

Many a day I sat there and read books for my research 

With nothing to disturb, the words just walk into the mind

Building the narrative I want to write for my paper 

I and my friend once sneaked into a library floor

Restricted for students, to see what was there 

In that semi-dark room, with only light from the windows 

We came across precious old books and journals  

That gave insights into machines from the industrial revolution era 

Also books on philosophy, and history, science, among others 

Neatly bookified newspapers from a different era 

I've come across the silent romances along the bookshelves corridors

Lovers keeping books in their hands and eyes lost in eyes 

They shared their hearts, as if in a park, without worries 

I found the designs for my 3-D cad projects in a British Library

Toiling hours through the automobile books, journals, and magazines 

The memories of paying fines for late return of books remain in mind

The online libraries and online book platforms

 Made books accessible in the personal gadgets

But the sensation of holding a book and flipping pages 

To read is still magical, book lovers would agree 

I would love to taste the silence of a library again to read books 

The seed of this poem came to my mind while going through the tweets related to books. I find it hard to read books now due to my depression. But I am very nostalgic about spending a lot of hours in libraries as a student. I mostly read books that are not related to studies :D Image taken by Emil Widlund. Thank you :) 

A Bag Full of Cash

 

A lady walking back to her apartment 

After her late-night work shift came across 

A bag full of cash abandoned on a footpath

Under a streetlight in front of a legendary statue 

She was stunned and excited about the possibilities 

Nobody was around and she asked herself 

Should I Keep this?

I didn't steal this, it might be a god's gift 

My morals are slightly blinding as the cash is there for taking

I am just skint and broke, it won't make me a bad person

If I take this home and start a new life in a faraway town

Her joy was short-lived as a man saw her with the bag open

He asked if it was her money!

She was sure that the man has seen her checking the money

She nodded that she got it from there a while ago 

She offered him a share from that bag 

He was broke too and need cash to repay his debts 

He was tempted by the offer and was about to agree

Somehow, he asked, what if its a blood money?

Belonging to nasty gangs and they might chase them

To take back money and revenge! 

I fear about the source of the money! I don't want it. 

She said you're just doing the right thing

I should be as well, but I don't think I would be able to 

Before she could take the bag and walk away 

A man with a gun asked them to up their hands 

He claimed that it was his lifelong earning 

He was not going to share a penny with them

If they want their lives, 

They should walk away without looking back 

They were scared for their lives and they walked dejectedly

With broken dreams and ruined hopes of a better life 

Only to hear the gunshots 

and they saw that man on the floor dead 

They ran for their lives leaving behind their wishes 

Towards the safety of their homes 

They could hear the angry taunts from a gang

This is what happens to the backstabbers in our gang

No mercy, death is the only punishment for the betrayal

The deceased man had planned for a while to dump a bag

During one of their robbery return trips, his mate knew it

He had informed the gang leader after the man went missing   

This poem is inspired and based on a conversation with @sliced_carpet on Twitter. Her tweet was , bag of cash.. nobody around.. are you keeping it? Be honest. Image taken from istockphoto. Thank you :) 

A Hobbit For A Writer

A Lush green grass valley providing 

Spectacular views of the hill ranges 

With tea and coffee plantations afar 

A lake on the plain encircled by trees

A hobbit house built into the valley 

By digging a hole for a sleeping cabin 

With a bed carved out from the soil

Wooden planks gave the insulation 

On the other end, there's a fireplace 

With a chimney to exhaust the smoke 

Wood from the nearby areas was used

To build the hoists for the sloped ceiling 

Small branches were tied to the hoists 

Mud was used to make the walls on the

 sides and in the front, gaps were there 

For the windows and a door to the hobbit 

Wooden planks were nailed to the hoists

To base the roof, a tarpaulin sheet was 

laid over the planks and dried grass was 

Stacked over it, Soil was laid over the roof

Soil was laid on the sides to create a slope

Glass panes were fitted for the windows 

The main wooden hoist became the base

 for the cabinet to keep the books, wooden

 planks were used for flooring, A table and

 chair faced the window, Storage cabinets

were set on the wall at the bedside, The

fireplace doubled up as kitchen, Dutch

oven and kettles as utensils for cooking 

Fresh grass was laid on the sloped walls

and roof, To merge with the grassy terrain 

Solar lamps lit the hobbit during the night 

A small garden with flowers in the front

yard, Completes a dream hideout for a

writer to focus on his craft amidst the 

nature, With fresh scent of papers and ink

and a cup of coffee to delve into fantasy

Regardless of rains, summer, or winter 

Sans the distraction of the internet world

This poem is based on a poetic seed I had during my evening walk. Image taken from Wikipedia 

A Town Center From A Dream

 I saw an unnamed small town center 

In my dream, from where I didn't want to return

The roads were having freshly laid bitumen 

The old iron lamps had a fresh black coat 

The medians had lush nicely cut grass 

The footpaths were having nice stone tiles 

The buildings were all red with white outlining 

The small park had plenty of flowering plants

A few old wooden benches for the visitors

A brick trail for the walkers and runners

A lush green lawn for those picnickers 

And a space for a traditional game 

The town had only a wholesale market 

A huge arched building with a big hall

There were big stalls for various items 

Vegetables were auctioned off daily 

If the buyer damages the vegetables

The person has to take them home 

But he will be banned from auction for a period  

The town had only a second-hand book shop

The books were stacked up like towers 

The best books were kept in cabinets 

There was a bargaining system for the books

After reading, people can resell it to the shop 

The townhall was small and resembled a theatre

It doubled up as the church, due to renovation 

There was a small police outpost in the town center

The crime rates were low and people were police friendly

There was a small hospital in the town with essential facilities

People rather took prescriptions from private doctors 

To buy medicines from the local pharmacies 

There was a women's shopping center 

Ran by women for all the needs of women 

I explored the streets while the bus was getting ready

They were neat and tidy and people kept flowering plants 

No walls were separating the houses 

Many of them had fruit-bearing trees in the front

I saw fewer cars on the streets and at homes 

I had to run to fetch the bus to go to my home somewhere 

This poem is based on what I saw in a dream today morning. The image is taken from Shutter Stock. Thank you :)

Glowworms Reunion

From the hills, moist plains, and riverside 

Glowworm beetles embarked on a journey

Towards a garden for their annual reunion 

To share their stories and enjoy the nectar

They left behind females as they can't fly 

It's like the bike riders' gangs on their trips 

They glowed intermittently in a  pattern

On that new moon night, they're the stars 

On land buried under the pitch darkness 

They reached the paddy fields and stuck 

To rice plants resembling firesticks glow

They rested in a big tree creating an aura 

Of Christmas lights during the spring night

They flew over the river creating art forms 

Of light patterns on the water with delight 

They reached the garden and selected

Flowers to enjoy the nectar they cherished 

They remembered their friends who lost

Their lives under the beaming streetlights 

Their mates who left life after delivering 

Larvae as per a strange tradition of theirs

While they returned through dark paths 

Towards the safety of their homelands 

Waving goodbyes until the next reunion

This poem is inspired by the glow worms I see during my late evening walk along riverside. Image taken from Bored Panda .Thank You :)