Lost in translation

“The quiet sense of something lost” 
― Alfred Tennyson

I’m lost in the translation 
wandering between the pages of  a book
hiding between the folds
and sitting under a neatly folded
dog-eared page
waiting to be pulled
I’m surrounded by the pages 
of my life 
and left behind in the
stories untold
that old shattered spine
of that dusty book
mirrors my life
I fervently crave for that 
intense fresh smell
we usually find 
in the binds of book
so new
so naive
I crave for that smell
which lingers on my breath
and gushes the memories of life
I rushed to forget
I’m lost in the folds
and the missing pages
where my story took a break
and can be found 
in those missing traces
That blotch of the ink
like a stain on my soul
hides the very essence of my life
devoured it whole
I’m lost in the translation
wandering between the pages
I have been sitting on the ledge 
of that old dusty shelf
too long
waiting to be picked 
and be smelled again.
Photo by Laura Kapfer on Unsplash

49 thoughts on “Lost in translation

  1. Lovely composition. Loved it to the core, the meter, the emotions, carelessly yet intricately placed words and the zig zag format of presentation. The below mentioned lines would be my highlight from the piece,
    “I’m lost in the folds
    and the missing pages
    where my story took a break
    and can be found
    in those missing traces”

    Liked by 1 person

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