Amongst the Pages

Soft, warm pages,

With moist smells of yearnings.

Break free from the cages,

Of turmoils and emotional burnings.

It's the first and then fingers turn,

Somewhere in those inks.

The soul is bound to learn,

About the profundity of links.

The beauty of a book lies,

In the heart of the reader.

Who, by her, soul tries,

To push herself to be the weaver.

The plot changes and so

Does the hues.

For one puts it off in a go,

And the other is still full of blues.

Amongst the pages,

Crisp or torn,

I found myself free from ages,

it's not end, IT IS the dawn.