We are like books on dusty shelves,
Telling stories of our deeper selves.
Some just glance and walk away,
Judging us by our cover’s display.
A few may read the opening page,
Think they know us, guess our age.
Some believe the critics’ say,
Never caring what we portray.
But inside, we hold a tale so true,
With joys and sorrows, old and new.
Our words may whisper, laugh, or cry,
Yet only a few will see them fly.
For those who pause and truly read,
Who feel our wounds, who know our need,
They see the light, they feel the pain,
They turn the page and love remains.
Md Nasim Akhtar Shamsi
No comments:
Post a Comment