It was an old building
With at least a hundred steps!
(Or so it seemed to the me who was six)
The steps gave way to a small hall
With passages on either side
One, to the contemporary, newer world
Another, leading to the old, ancient ones.

I, of course, went for the second one!
That’s where the smell of books was the strongest
That’s where the stories of the old books
Waited, for me, for anyone really
Who was willing to listen
The words were too tough for me then
But I loved it all nonetheless.

Everything from the feel of old, wrinkly pages
To reading the names of people
Who looked at these same words before me
And I hoped I will be someday
A part of them, for others to see
Who will come here one day in this room
Where the smell of books was the strongest.