Windows to worlds that lie far beyond our own,
Woven dextrously like a tapestry
Whose threads enmesh myriad marvels
With pens that run on enchanted ink
Each far-faraway tantalizingly unattainable
But beckoning,
Beckoning to me always.
 Words that urge us to simply let go
To let go of our mundanely humdrum existence
And to lose ourselves in a different world
To forget those boundaries separating reality from fiction
That hang bleakly, like mist in the air.
Poems that paint pictures in your mind
In hues of sepia and Technicolor
Awakening feelings that had hitherto lain latent,
Lost in the ebb and flow of emotions
Until words; words sprinkled with poetic passion
And garnished with flecks of magic
Begin to lay siege to your thoughts
And induce you to believe
To believe in the power of verse.
Words that egg you on
To peer at the shrewd tabby next door
To check if she isn’t really McGonagall in disguise
Or to ascertain, in the privacy of your bedroom
Whether with a complacent snap of your fingers
You could summon a djinni
To take you to the Wayless Woods
Where the fire-elves and water-nymphs dance,
Or to the deserts of Arabia
Where the winds,
Saturated with the coarse harshness of the dust-smattered land
Skim fleetingly and impartially across our headscarves
While camels snort crossly in the distance.
Books that are thresholds to bliss
Beguilingly bewitching,
diabolic and wily
Wrenching you away from the stark dreariness of truth
And thrusting you into a world that will never be your own
Snaring you with their bewitching lies
Knit intricately from the choicest of gobbledygook.
They will imprison you within the confines of their tales
Until you are left to wander the labyrinth of exotic imaginings
All by yourself.

Malvika
Cluny Convent school