An old bookstore

An old bookstore.

Dull, to some. Intriguing, to the others.
Piled with books, to some. Full of life, to the rest.
The books, here.
Adorned with cobwebs and dust,
Resting in peace,
having lived their lives.

This book, here. Nursery rhymes.
A child held it, once.
In his hands : Tiny, and pure.

Another one. It speaks of Anatomy.
A student held it, once.
In his hands : Strong, and determined.

Malgudi Days.
An old man held it, once.
In his hands : Wrinkled, and frail.

But here lies another book.
It seems untouched, though dusty.
It speaks of the store’s forgotten history.
I hold it, now.
In my hands : Young, and curious.

I walk out with the book in my hands.
Turn around, and see.

An old bookstore.