Picture & Poem by Zoya Amjad

You say read me
Like the books lying on my shelf
You say turn each page
The story has much to offer
But my dear you are not like them
You’re not like any of the books I have
Or the ones tucked away in my little suit case
Or the ones I put in my Kindle to read around in the time I find which I never do
Or the ones someone gave me and asked for nothing in return
Nothing but the unsaid debt of the love I did not deserve
Or the one that’s always in my backpak
To be taken out when I can no longer stand the sound of the world
Or the ones I find in the stores I can’t afford and promise to come back for but I forget
I forget how every single word in every single book that I own or aspire to own
Will always make sense to me no matter how long I take to revisit it
It would be like the warmth of that soup mother made when I got sick
Like the bed that awaits me after a tiring journey
It would be like the scent of freshly mowed grass on an April night
It would be like home
But my dear you are not like them
You are not like any word I have read before
You are not like any of my books not even the ones in my Kindle
You are not like home
You are the dream of one
And some dreams are better left unread.



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