A book lover

A book loving friend of mine read

Whatever he could lay his hands on

He found time from no time to read

It did not matter, if it was a crowded bus, or a tram

Loved to read at one of his favourite roadside bookstall

Books were his resort; he slept over it

He bought books, more than he could afford

Hated lending them, lest they got lost

Booklover he was, not a book trader

His possession, a few books, with notes on the margin

He read a lot, still a lot remained

My friend used to say

“If you want to read me, read the books I read

Read at the earliest; don’t keep them for the future

Future seldom comes”

Before entering the paradise my friend must have asked the gatekeeper

“Does paradise has a place where one can read and live again?”