Death Of A Bookstore
The room is cold and sterile,
Bereft of sensations.
The walls exude a chill,
As a thin light through the window spills.
Casting pale shadows on racks,
Dry yet musty,
Where the tomes rest, in slothful idleness,
And volumes of tales, lost in translation,
Spineless and desiccated,
Paper backs and hard backs, in desolation,
Their timeworn leaves rasping sad stories of estrangement-
None to take, none to hold, none to own.
Saunters in the empty aisles,
A loner, looking at
Dissociated and distanced by brackets.
Foggy titles on dusty covers and dusty jackets.
This world is spookish,
And anything but bookish.
Oh for that waft of warm scent!
Of bounded leather and printed paper,
Of steaming mugs and rustling leaves,
Of hushed tones and sunny spirits.
Alas! The bewitching hour is spent.
The bookworm’s beating heart stills.
The truth unveils,
Like an anticlimactic ending of a chapter,
It is now a local lore,
‘Death of a Bookstore’
Electronic earthworms can now chomp ‘n slurp away million bytes a minute to flashy pen drives as we relax getting a caffeine refill or hairdo.
Whether we get it all into our grey cells is another matter!
Era of the on demand literati has arrived.
When book stores die let electronic stores sprout!
More money in the latter if you ask me!