A Book Poem Novels & Stories

A young girl, not quite tall enough to reach the sorting tray, was assisting in piling up the warm pages. "They sound like poetry," Lia whispered. "But with directions." She wasn't addressing anyone specifically, but the man folding pamphlets at the next table inclined his head. "That's the idea," he said. "Poetry endures. So does purpose." Outside, a cart of snacks rolled past—kutsinta, banana cue, rice cakes in banana leaves. The vendor paused, glancing in through the window. “You’re printing the memory books?” he asked. “Yes,” Lia said. “Want one?”

But she did not realize how quickly it could turn into nighttime. "The sun was up just a moment ago," she whispered. "Seconds ago, actually. Why is it slowly turning nighttime already? This is too--" her whole body jolted as a book popped out right in front of her. It glowed, as if inviting Verena to open the pages under the moon that is slowly coming up to its place. "The cursed book," she whispered. "Why the hell is this here? How could this book follow me in my dream?" "Am I draping or is this..."

he points at her with his chin, expressionless, “didn't you want to join our group? There is the proof.” I swallow a bitter breath when I reach for it and study it, without a doubt it is the same bracelet that the Zanni subjects had. “Why black?” “I really don't know.” He dives into the pages of his new book of the week and surprisingly it is not the one he read yesterday. Had I already finished it? For sure yes. His title was somewhat ironic; The Darkest Book of Cheap Poetry.

The crackling fire spat, dawning in me the realization that even in the stillness of the night, there was still warmth to be found. I involuntarily walked towards a certain shelf containing a familiar row of books, my hands scaling slowly through the books there. It was poetry,my favourite while young. back then it was an old friend, a comfort whenever I come to the library after a long and tiring day. I fell in love with poetry, and it fell in love with me. As I opened the book of poetry that night, I scanned through the pages of the book. It all seemed to come alive as I stood there,the large book on my arm.

I walked over to the bookshelf and ran my fingers over the spines, trying to decide which one to pick. Finally, I settled on a book of poetry and carried it over to the armchair in the corner of my room. I curled up with the book and a blanket, feeling the warmth of the fabric wrap around me like a cocoon. I opened the book and let my eyes roam over the pages, drinking in the words and letting them transport me to another world.

I had never had anyone write a poem about me, let alone a book full of poetry. "Maybe when I have something important to tell you I shouldn't write a poetry book about it". He said and I nodded, against his chest my hands going underneath my chin as I scooted myself up his chest, our lips perfectly aligned. I hoped every important thing from now would be told person to person, our eyes interlocked, noticing each other's mood, noticing their stance. I hoped every important thing from now would not be in. A book that I had to search for something unknown that I didn't know I needed. "I loved your book... I'll keep it forever". I hummed softly and he smiled at my gesture, his hands creeping up

he asked, taking another sip of his coffee. "A book," was her dry reply, without even looking up. Nic gritted his teeth. "I'm aware of that. What's the title?" he asked, with less patience than before. "How to kill someone you don't like in two days." Nic had to laugh on the inside. She really was a funny piece of work. She still had yet to learn her manners, but she would. He would be damn sure of that. He walked over to her and snatched the book from her hands. Before she could protest, he read the title to himself. '100 Greatest Love Poems of All Time'. He handed the book back to her and walked to the bar area and sipped some more of his coffee.

"Yes. There are parts missing." "True. Recently, I found a book that might help us with that matter." "Let's find it." "A red covered book with golden inlays." "I found it." "You have a sharp eye. All the books in this section are the same." "Let's start. There is a free table." Surrounded by rays of candles, the two friends started reading the dusty, old tome. The first one started:

The book remained silent, twisting its lips like a female putting on a gloss, “Well, I'm Cwena Engow, and this is Gerey -” “Spare me the details,” the book screamed loudly at her, “I know who you both are better than you both know yourself,” “Shhh, you're going to attract my mother's attention if you continue speaking with such volume. And how did you know us?” “Don't you dare lay as much as a finger on me,” with a scared tone, the book told Gerey who'd wanted to lift it unto his lap, “Unless - you want to burn me.”

⸻ Almost deliberately. ⸻ Then a single object emerged. ⸻ Not a weapon. ⸻ Not a creature. ⸻ Not a god. ⸻ A book. 📖 ⸻ A simple book. ⸻ Floating in the air. ⸻ Burned. ⸻ Damaged. ⸻ Ancient. ⸻ Its pages were torn. ⸻ Its cover almost destroyed. ⸻ Yet one title remained visible. ⸻