Books...The eternal and magical

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This poem that I've written was in preparation for an inter- school competition in poetry writing. It is more importantly, an ode to books who are my best friends and my portal to another universe from which I never desire to return.

What is a book?  I ask myself,
 when I am in a pensive frame of mind?
Is it a piece that readers seek, 
or does a book seek its reader, a person who is one of a kind?

Is a book a journey, that readers take,
that helps us solve this puzzle we call life?
Is a book truly about the story 
or is its spirit, on what we bookworms thrive?

Do we love books, because we are enchanted, 
by how one can just break into song?
Or are we astounded, by the fact, that like us,
 protagonists too, are occasionally wrong.

Do we hold books dear, because it understands us,
 no matter our plight?                              
Or do we love books, because it keeps assuring us,
 that one day things will be alright?

Do we take heed in books, because we can vent our anger, 
instead of using truculent ways?
Or do we take heed in them,
 because they shelter us and help us bury our pains? 

Books are, the bearers of knowledge, 
they tell us about life, all things brutal and witty.
And stumbling upon the right book, is the truest form of serenity. 

-Diya Hebbar 


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