The Room

the rugged, old desk

in my room

is a proof of a life

lived hunched over it,

and my window

stays jammed

on most days

as if tired of ushering in

the outside life

into this quiet room

that has no choice

but to pretend that

it is a world

of its own,

and my shelves

contain places that I

have broken into,

escpaed from,

and have been

banished from at times,

but they keep

gathering dust

as if this room

is a lot bigger

than all the worlds

they contain within

their glorious pages,

and I am here too,

outgrowing the room,

but just like the desk,

the window, and the books

on the shelves,

I do not leave.

I cannot leave.

©Aaysid

“The secret of a good old age is simply an honorable pact with solitude.”
Gabriel García Márquez, One Hundred Years of Solitude

Featured image from Pixabay

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