By Arnav Bhattacharya
You are welcome to pick me up,
even if only to throw me away again,
amongst a pile of long-forgotten relics.
I still welcome every new wrinkle
on your face when you remember me,
years after you forget me.
Sometimes, you caressed my spine—
back when I had one.
Now, I can no longer feel your touch,
for I am taped, mended, and put together
many times over.
I still have faint memories
of you smelling my pages,
for they had so much intrigue
yet to offer.
Now, they too would smell different,
for they have soaked your tears
all these years.
I often think of my end,
as my letters fade
and pages wither away.
But here I am,
fighting a losing battle with time,
to keep myself together—
in case you wish to see me again.
I feel the same way as Basabdatta has expressed.
Definitely, well written.
A big applause for Arnav. Keep it up.
“Usually people do not wish to read a second hand paperback, they don’t like to re-read an already read story. But those who do, are real safeguards of the stories. A second hand paperback desires for such readers and keepers.”
Short, crisp and deep. A poem seemingly looking as a loss of hope, but still hooking to the same.
Good work!👍
Short, poignant, and impactful. Very well written.
So simple yet very touchy reflecting the same agony of old aged people who have been forgotten by their kids or friends