Monday, May 19, 2014
Most of the times, our love for books make it to the point where we view life in a very idealistic way. We often forget that it's our job to write our own story--though not perfect, though not ideal--it's something real, it's something we can call us ours. So this poem is all about that..
Every night, I read a book
Few chapters, that's all it took
I shed tears, got me so hook
Reality - just stop and look
Every night, I fall in love
Watching the night sky above
Books, where worlds are contrived
I'd dive in and live inside
Every night, I stay awake
Thinking why we always have to wait
Fiction is a bastard bait
One day.. I'll meet you, mate
Few chapters, that's all it took
I shed tears, got me so hook
Reality - just stop and look
Every night, I fall in love
Watching the night sky above
Books, where worlds are contrived
I'd dive in and live inside
Every night, I stay awake
Thinking why we always have to wait
Fiction is a bastard bait
One day.. I'll meet you, mate
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