The Book

The lines run into each other, the ink is musty in some places.

Some places make you smile and the others, heave a sigh of regret.

The pages that you read are of your own creation.

You create the plot, and you are the hero.

Villain too.

You craft and conceive, imagine and dare.

Your story is your own.

The veins of words will interweave with other stories.

Some carry on, the others complete their purpose in a short while.

Yet you keep writing your script.

Unmindful you are; perhaps give credit to unseen forces.

If you move with the flow, you’re writing the script.

Your ambitions, dreams keep crafting the plot.

Each person has their own plot.

Whose to judge the better one?

The story itself yields a silent judgement.

And the bearer of that judgement, good or bad, is you.

Your cover will change, so will those of others.

The only court that you need to answer to that of time.

That’s your only truth.

Have you been aware? Have you changed the story as you discovered more?

The pages are numbered differently for all.

Each story has beauty.

And the heart of your beauty will keep growing as you discover yourself more: the mystery, adventures, dreams and successes.

Your book is your own.

And the next person’s is his.

You cannot compare, cannot write your chapter in another’s book.

Inspire, yes. Influence, maybe.

The lines may run into one another – yet your book remains your own.

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