Booksmith Chronicles (poem)

I wonder why your book should be mine

The one to read, and the one to write.
The one to win an award coveted, the one to get a fat cheque
And the one I cherish by an author as unknown as myself.

In my mind's pages
it wins laurels you shall never hear of.

Books are politics
Books are experiences
Some have no words,
no publishers, no pages
Just a meaningful sigh
Breathed into unknown eternity
A passing moment.
Rich and powerful.

Ideaspermscomeandgo
In the netherworld
Of One Big Uncut Diamond.

Your book is yours
Mine is mine
Yours is on the coffee table
With a wrapper on
Mine may be dog-eared
In yellowish pulp
With memories where a bookmark could be.

Words mingle with thoughts
We travel. In Time. In Space
Into our selves
Into other selves.

But which is your book
And which mine?

Let publishers and inner-jacketed
craftsmiths jostle for accolades

True tomes may yet be like secret lovers
Blissful in the muffled giggles and sighs of a leafy garden

When does a writer become an author?
       - Madhavan N, 2018