© Махоша 2015

The Book Wants Into Your Hands

The book is like a bird that sings

And staying mute can hurt its wings.

Don’t leave it with the dusty things

In old dark bookcase. Never, please!

The Book sees Reader in its dreams.

Through darkest nights, under the pillow,

You had exciting, thrilling plot.

But soon you won’t be needed, will you?

A stuffy shelf is now your spot.

Your neighbors – Goethe, Pushkin. Dot.

And now, forgotten and alone

You stay invisible for others,

And no one wants to hear you moan

But hope for rescue’s not yet gone.

Where is it, when your soul smothers?

Though, daughters failed their reading plans,

Granddaughters crave for trendy brands,

Night after night, day after day,

The Book is suffering this way.

Where’s the Reader who understands?

The Book wants right into your hands!

Mahosha 2015