My Encounters With The Written Text

With every page I turned, with every word I read,

A new image formed or an already existing one got a stronger figure in my head.

It was blearing out what it hid inside its cover, it shouted all the details to me,

It told me the truth I thought in a way it told to no other.

I took it as a confidant, someone who confided only in me,

A creation of someone else’s pen, but a formation just the way I see.

It was mine to keep; it was mine to remain forever,

It was mine to play with, blot or forget, or to read again the text to fit the forgotten pieces together.

It made me feel every unrealistic thought was practical;

If only in the form of a vivid imagination, it made me realise that the realms to my imagination were ample.

I explored them more with each page I turned, I fondled with them with each piece of written text

It remained in my head as a sweet remembrance; even when I moved on to create the next.