krishnakumar chandrasekar nair
Those dusty book shelves of childhood...
Oh, give me those dusty bookshelves of the past
Where books held raptures that would last
A dry crushed flower or perhaps a frayed leaf
A worm eaten love story with an ending so neat
And all those fancy tales of faeries so good
Who lost their wands and cried in the woods
And of goblins who stole tulips and roses
All from the valley of love and happiness
And when the moon rose at the midnight hour
I would turn in my sleep and suddenly smile
Lost in a place of spells and charming power
And my cat settles softly between my legs and curl.....
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