You look at me with an apology
Dripping from the language of your eyes
As you speak those very words
I dreaded to hear
Merciless and torturous-
"No more library classes
For none of you read
Suffer will those who do."
But no.
You can't cancel our library class.
Never will I be able to explain
To the smell of the pages
That await to fill me up,
To the spilled ink that calls out
For me to spin and weave
For me to pattern and carve
A story of my own,
To the ones who remain
With their arms outstretched
Waiting and waiting
For my fingers to blend into theirs
So they can pull me
Into a world of their own
That they so desperately wish
For me to see.
Never will I be able to explain
To the silence that lingers
Patiently
Trying to listen
To the music of me
Reading, exploring, discovering.
You can't cancel our library class
For punishing we who read
While blessing in disguise
Those who don't.
But wait.
Oh, cancel our library class
If you must.
Yes, go on.
But then you will find
Me and the like of me
Sneaking away
With a surreptitious swagger
With a knowing motive
Into the world of fiction,
Of imagination
Where we truly belong,
Into a realm of magic and reality
And an affixture of the two,
Into a land that sprouts
Castles and willows
And harbours
Witches and wizards of our kind
And repels
Muggles like you.
Oh, cancel our library class
If you really must,
But we shall not abide either
For our library is our abode
And it will always be there
To welcome us home.