As I sit on a summer afternoon enervated,
While screeching sunlight speeds up photosynthesis of the flora outside.
I look at the multifarious contemporary reads lying on my shelf,
And find them as only indulgence in my solitary being.
I grew up reading vibrant children’s monthlies,
Full of illustrations and personified animals and plants!
Then elevated to Matilda, Secret Garden, and Alice in Wonderland,
As the adolescence knocked the door.
Often immersed in Nirvana and Pearl Jam,
I also yearned for oeuvres of Thomas Hardy and D. H. Lawrence.
Walking along with Tess in the English countryside,
I met my Angel Clare who I contemplated could ward off any pain.
During college, the renowned treatises of economic botany, zoology,
and taxonomy became a part of my academic pursuit.
But I stealthily bunked Chemistry class only to find refuge in,
The Tempest, Troilus and Cressida, and some sinful Sons and Lovers..
As an adult, I now own books for every season.
For summers when laburnum canopies and hibiscus flowers blooms in bounty,
I prefer to sip iced-tea with tranquil mountain and nature reads,
Akin to works of Frank Smythe, Ruskin Bond, or Amitava Ghosh!
On chilly winter nights and balmy spring afternoons,
I seek classics of any kind in monochrome or colours.
Jane Eyre, Hamlet, Palli Samaj, Srikanta, Karmabhoomi et al
Cosy in bed at night, I think what are winters without Bronte sisters.
How much significant books are for me,
I say as meditation or bliss is for anyone.
Further, my routine is replete with characters of classics I love,
As a crush appears Mr Rochestor and the other one is Angel Clare.
Bury me in a grave with a classic,
As allegorical and deep as a work of Albert Camus!
That will help me in composing an aubade about world of books,
For all those who succumb to loneliness and ennui.