My latest metaphorical poem. Interpret it how you will!
I poured two cups of tea,
One was for me,
The other was for the book.
The book sat down and gave me a look
See, she was surprised when I looked in her eyes.
No one else had bothered to see past her disguise.
On the surface this book was a catastrophe,
A tale of drunk criminals prone to depravity.
But I soon discovered a story of societal tragedy,
A book that had been dealt with brutally,
When her library was invaded by so-called gallantry,
That tore out her pages irrationally,
And stole her light to power their own history.
Instead of judging by her section or size,
I decided to give the book a try.
Her cover was damaged, but not beyond repair.
She could be restored with a bit of care.
She opened up with themes of loss and despair.
But further inside, she had so much to share,
Things I could learn from, from what was bound there.
I read a story of pain and lies
A tale of long forgotten cries.
A past of trying to be heard,
A book whose truth had been blurred.
And as I listened, my heart was stirred
In that book, I also saw strength.
Her tale was one of resilience.
I read of her courage to stand her ground,
When there was less and less of her genre around.
She had so much knowledge, so many ideas.
It would be such a shame if this book disappeared.
I listened so long, the tea got cold.
And after everything had been told,
I thanked the book for being so bold.
Because without her, there would be no story.
And without the telling of her story and his-story,
The book could never be closed in peace,
And those who saw her would never cease,
To make callous judgements without knowing for sure,
About who she was and who they were.
And what they were truly doing to her.
And also, what they did not do,
To make sure the book got a real chance too.
So next time you see a book on the shelf,
Ask them to tell you about themself.
Instead of judging them by their looks,
Pour a cup of tea, and read the damn book.
– Lari ✌