I'm not happy with myself...

I'm an unpicked book in the top shelf...

Dust settling over as time passes...

No more top corner folds or behind the back creases...

There isn't any glance up here...

Forgotten and left out I fear...

I remember being open...

Every line being read while munching a bun...

From morning shine till night's dim light...

Never putting me down, that hold was tight...

Laughter, thrill, adventure was my magic...

I sure use to give her imagination a kick...

Gone are those days...

But I still try for her one gaze...

Old and read I'm...

Hope I could rewrite myself like a programme...

I know I won't again give you that kick...

But don't forget I was your pick...

About Author

Abhishek Gorale

A software engineer by profession and a curious blogger by will. An ambivert who balances his creative and geeky sides.

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