An incomplete story

What remains are the ones which are incomplete.

Absence of closure keeps them at the back of our mind

where we invent our own little skit

and keep rewriting them in the hope to find

something which will just fit.

Soon we forget the previous story

because a new one starts to take shape.

Congratulations on creating another incomplete story

where one day we shall come back for an escape.

Bookmark

 

On the seat right next to mine

there was an old & torn book.

Faded ink on it spoke of a time,

Long gone now. It seemed bespoke.

Out of habit to turn pages,

My eyes started running over the faded words.

A few pages later there was a bookmark

on which written were these words…

Once you read, place the marker into the next page

and write a few lines about yourself,

Become a part of the book of age.

Keep it back on the seat, this was never meant for a bookshelf.

Upon doing as instructed I figured, I was reader number 511.

The book once belonged to this traveller

Who wished to meet the World.

Alas! he could not for time ran out. He was a believer.

He was reader number 001

and now I was a part of his world.