The Wanderer

An ardent reader I am.

I wander from word to word,

Para to para and page to page,

Like a bee that extracts the essence

Of each flower, it visits.

I love the books I can enter to explore.

‘Do it with me,’ shout the books,

Stacked in the same shelf,

‘But do it not openly’, they add;

Those books are mostly shy,

No one has opened them yet.

They are all unmapped.

How can one love

Those who hide their face and pace!

I wonder.