Alex Angelov

First Book. - Poem by Alex Angelov

The light coming trough the window
showed all the dust that exploded from
the opening of that one book…

This cold light
lighting up
the warm dusty room.
Books and books and nothing but books.
Mice’s houses.
Rat’s castles.
Home of the fattest woodworms.

I cough with every step,
cause every step
is a step creating
clouds of dust.
Dust created from books.
Bookstorm.< br>
As I walk thought the kingdom of dead knowledge
towards the end of the world,
I’m looking for one book.
Even if in pieces.
Even a tiny part of it.
i need it.

A page, or a line.
A word would do.

My room is my desert,
my prison and my kingdom.
So I build my paper castles
and I burn my books to feel warm.
I drink the sunlight
and I look for the word, hopelessly,
like it would save my soul,
like it would grant my wishes.
I don’t know how old is that wine.
I found it behind these books over there.
It tastes like shit,
but that’s allright.
I’m eating the leather covers some book have,
else i’m dying.
I lick my own sweat,
the rats are no more.
All their houses and castles and bedrooms are ruined.
You see, i’m still looking for that piece from that book.
Even the moths are gone.
Not that tasty,
but that’s alright.
Oh well, here we go again…

I’m a starving man,
a godless messiah,
soon I’ll feed myself
pieces of my flesh,
tiny organs no one needs.
It hurts a little now,
but that doesn’t matter.
I can devour anything,
I just need to keep my fingers,
so I can run them over my book,
when I find it,
I will find it,
gently caress the pages,
one by one, run my hands
over the hard covers, the soft insides.

When I find my book
it will all be worth it.

New rat in town.
The rat is no more.
Gave me strenght for one last search.
It seems i looked everywhere:
in all the secret rooms,
under the stairs,
behind the bookcase,
under that little door behind the sofa…or what’s left of it anyway.
The book is nowhere to be seen
so now i’m on the floor.
Breathing is almost impossible
cause of the dust i breathed through these months.
Seems like my last scar has opened up…
The ceiling is beautiful…
Andels fighting demons.
Demons loving angels.
And God is reading a book…

There’s dust dripping from me.
Dust and words.
And light.
I’ll ask you in a bit… Father!

So what I’m a character?
So what my steps are counted?
I had the right to try and change that!
See you in the next book, God!

Topic(s) of this poem: death, search

Comments about First Book. by Alex Angelov

  • Souren Mondal (11/9/2015 7:57:00 PM)

    'So what I’m a character?
    So what my steps are counted?
    I had the right to try and change that!
    See you in the next book, God! '

    Wow! Quite a finale.. A really touching poem Alex.. Wonderful...
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  • Kelly Kurt (11/9/2015 7:34:00 PM)

    A very interesting and poignant poem, Alex. Thanks (Report) Reply

  • Kumarmani Mahakul (11/9/2015 4:52:00 PM)

    Wonderful and expressive poem shared here.10 (Report) Reply

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Poem Submitted: Monday, November 9, 2015

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