This Little Book

20140327_171445-Good day

This poem has been inspired by Benjamin Wild and he asked me to reflect on how ‘inanimate objects (maybe something specific to you?) become imbued with meaning and enable people to express feelings and ideas that their words and actions often cannot.’ This the first proper poem where the subject/theme has not been decided by me but another and I hope to have conveyed the image as closely to what Benjamin had in mind. The poem was also inspired by a book of common prayer given to me by my Grandmother. Enjoy

This little book.

The spine is worn away at the top.

The words imprinted in gold are fading and

Only if one holds it to the light of the sky does it glow like

A candle in a rundown house, slowly but courageously

Holding out against time. Cracks in the binding show the

Effect of war on even the humblest of minds

Yet It does not stop telling, It does not stop us

learning

 

The pages are going brown.

The hands that have perused and turned through

The delicate prayers and sermons are now delicate themselves.

Soft and forgiving hands that have held It lovingly for

Year after year trying to fully understand the proleptic messages

It tells us.

 

Some of the pages are quite loose.

The pages that once clung so tightly

Are now dejected, tears marring the beauty of its Innocence.

I must be delicate when I touch It so as to not disturb its silent

Mouthings. This is more than a book. It is a reflection of a life,

Ongoing and oncoming. Of tears and laughter all encapsulated

In It.

 

This inanimate object has passed from one to another

With pride, there is a link that connects generations and worlds.

This object carries within it an age of respect and gratitude

And a hope that It will continue and not be left at the back of

Shelves to rot, uncared for and unloved.

It has lived longer than I yet It cannot share its knowledge.

It has connected people all over the world

who gasp at the wonder and splendour of this little book.

 

Just as one might buy a leather satchel to keep and hand down

To another, so I have this little book to continue the legacy and pride

Of those before me. This little book will always be a (living) reminder of

The kind and the gentle and the warm-spirited.

It has become permeated with the musky smell of an erstwhile library

And the spine keeps wearing away, waiting for another to clasp its fading

lifeblood.

 

 

 

 

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