The Bookcase's Silent Library

The old bookcase stands, a silent, knowing friend,
Its wooden shelves, with stories richly lined.
More than mere volumes, it has come to lend
A silent library, for the heart and mind.

It holds the echoes of the voices read,
The whispered words, from pages turned with care,
The vibrant thoughts, that blossomed in each head,
And quiet moments, hanging in the air.

The scent of paper, ancient, soft, and deep,
Mingled with dust, a fragrance of the past,
The silent promises our spirits keep,
Where intellectual journeys truly last.

It saw the eager hands that reached for lore,
The thoughtful pauses, in the fading light,
The sudden laughter, from a thrilling core,
And quiet solace, through the darkest night.

It felt the weight of knowledge, vast and wide,
The tender touch of fingers on each spine,
The dreams that soared, with nothing left to hide,
A silent witness to a life divine.

This bookcase, guardian of thought and dream,
A repository of wisdom, strong and true,
Reflecting back a quiet, gentle gleam,
And all the growth that lovingly passed through.

It holds the essence, clear and undefiled,
Of countless minds that sought its quiet grace,
A silent confidante, forever mild,
The living heart of this beloved place.

- Khushi Kaul