Like us, books are frail

𝗟𝗶𝗸𝗲 𝘂𝘀, 𝗯𝗼𝗼𝗸𝘀 𝗮𝗿𝗲 𝗳𝗿𝗮𝗶𝗹

Our libraries can be like factories
churning and arranging works
keeping such but also throwing
books that are too old,
too yellowed, or dirtied by time.
But they don’t produce,
or reproduce. They guard the titles
and list the top ten favourites
by genre and popularity,
and if unread, left on the shelf.

Like us, books are frail
their spines hold everything together.
All but tiny drops of fresh coffee
ruin pristine pages; its darkness
seeping in like unwanted ink
etched permanent, slowly spreading
until they look like splashes
and spatters of evening rain.

When a book cover finally falls
ripped from its spine,
‘tis like dried lips of lovers
finding space in their desires
to speak in one true heart,
but finding reasons to stay apart.

O reader, why then do you find solace
in the dried ink of written pages?
Maybe you knew, how boundless
the beating heart of books
that kept pace with your own,
or the same song they sang
of steadfast delicateness, in the
hardened fates of binding breakability.

𝐊. 𝐇𝐚𝐳𝐰𝐚𝐧, 𝟐𝟑 𝐎𝐜𝐭𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟓