The Smell of Books

Oh, thou old books,
Fresh of library out,
I hold thou in full,
And smell throughout.

Thou fragrance to me,
And I sniff so deep,
Till the odor has
In my soul seeped.

And it brings rest to
My all wandering mind,
As I inhale thy pages
In one go, all at a time.

What's Your True Calling?

And it's all about what your true calling in life is. What is it on earth that makes your knees go weak? Where does your innermost interest lie?

After a long span of seven years, when I once again entered the English Literature class, the very first minute I knew that this was where I belonged. That I should never have gone for anything else, should not even have thought of doing something else. That I had been wandering clueless, aimlessly for seven long years and that nothing brought inner peace.

Such similar realization came once again when I entered a huge library full of books on literature. There, standing alone, amongst numerous books around, nothing but books, thousands of them, a sudden realization struck me. I found that I could spend my entire life there and I would not regret a single moment of it. And that I did not want anything else from life.

Literature. Library. Books.

"Literature" is like a very sensuous and beautiful woman who turns me on every single time I think or talk about it (her). I don't consider "literature" to be merely a subject of study. It is a living thing for me, warm and affectionate, and I find peace in her. I talk to her, I feel her, I sniff her through the old books in the old silent library. This library with books on literature is very quite and calm in her composure. Yet, she talks back as I read her. She speaks out loud. It's wonderful to be with her. It's soothing. Time stops. All I want to do is pick out the old books, sit and read them one by one, line by line, word by word, letter by letter. I wanna absorb all that they have into myself. They complete my being.