THE LIBRARY

 The library is a clock tower where time stands still where I hide between the pages of a dusty book of nineeth century just to watch my favorite person whirl in the words.

The library is a sky of broken wings where the lover of the man who killed himself sit in hope of a miracle.

The library is a dandelion seed the mother of the guy, who is in the jail for cooking his favorite food,  wishes to plant in the barren streets of our city.

The library is a sunflower petal red with the blood of the revolution of a girl who dared to walk in the night. 

The library is a bearer of coffin of the dreams of a teenager who is going to get married day after tomorrow.

The library is a the shivering wrist of a boy who was moulded incorrectly in masculine soil because he loves jhumkas not cricket bats. 

The library is a stranger for the father who is playing a sadistic song over uncooked rice.

The library is a hidden code written about Romeo and Juliet to teach all the lovers of their future.

The library is a religion but the name of your personal God stappled in the roof of your mouth.

The library is a fragile hand holding stories of centuries for any one hiding a wolf under their skins.

The library is an autopsy table where princesses are dissected for their naive tongues and beliefs.

The library is a daisy chain in the neck of the morning kiss we missed from our mothers.

The library is a blanket wrapped around us to hide the scars of a lifetime from prying eyes of a cat. 

The library is a love bite we are no longer ashamed to show off because love wins after all.

The library is a butterfly wing dancing in a summer afternoon like a girl in her first prom.

The library is an eulogy for what I am and what I am not, written in thousand verses and three thousand languages.

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