Bookshop in after-hours by Dora Kazmierak www.instagram.com/dorakazmierak/
Slightly-stiffly opens windowed door,
worn linoleum reveals wooden floor;
hesitantly many enter this bookshop
tentatively on tiptoe, silent pin-drop.
Quiet most visitors, hush-reverent,
awe for older authors most prevalent,
otherworldly this antique atmosphere,
nostalgic scents sing from yesteryear.
Older words uttered, out of fashion,
pleas preach with purest passion,
authors pronounce, sometimes sigh,
high hoped visions, or existential why.
Opulent leather scents, pungent old ink,
paper perfume, gilt-edge gold winks;
books celebrate our very existence,
phrases underlined, pencilled persistence.
Some show collector bookplate stamp,
texts read under haloed library lamp
– without esteemed authors, who are we?
Cherished books reflect our philosophy.