The Book

 

One of my books

in a plastic jacket

contains a stain on the cover,

a burnt spot.

I was extremely annoyed

when my mama (maternal uncle),

who took it for a reading,

while returning it,

in an apologizing tone

confessed: so sorry,

I fell asleep

and it’s my cigarette’s doing.

Only a badly sketched smile

appeared on my face;

no words of wound

escaped from my injured heart thankfully.

It was once upon a time.

I was a college student then.

He is no more.

I sometimes place my hand

on that black shapeless mark

and feel his presence

and sigh.

 

 

 

Posted for Sumana’s Midweek Motif ~ Books @ Poets United

 

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