Finding Myself

‘Tis mysterious that my heart beats

Thumps in its ribcage rebelliously

Behaves like a  child unruly, 

In obstinacy, turns back towards

A wooden shelf bent with books,

Like a truant child asking for a candy,

Oh I must admit I skip many a  heartbeat

When I  see a bibliophile or a library.


Why, I have wondered long,

Is it that I find the likes of myself 

In others dipping their heads in pages in a bibliotheque?

How I become acquainted to a 

Mirrored me, I suppose it’s Alice 

Playing the  prankster, leading a dreamy me into

Forests that merge into castles 

And then suddenly I’m awake!


 ‘Tis a subtle connection from past lives,I realise.

Perhaps, I was Caxton, 

The scent of warm paper, who loved.

Or a Romantic quilling stories

On Helen’ s promiscuity,

Or could it be a star gazing Hardy detailing Bathsheba’s

Dilemmas and desires in Wessex’s prudery.

Oh well! Let yarn spinners be,  suffice ’tis- books transport me to fantasy!


© Mumtaz N Khorakiwala



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Written by Mumtaz N K

Trainer, reader, littérateur  & wayfarer...many selves wrapped in one physicality

Sprucing up  my the writer in me...


Gold And Grey