Inspiration at the Bookstore
I find that entering a bookstore (provided it's not one of the impersonal, monster ones) is like entering someone's home. The smaller ones, which I favor, tend to have their own character and can give you an insight into the interests of the booksellers.
What struck me about one in Washington, DC was the way the books were grouped, who got to hang out with whom. I tend to search for the same topics in a bookstore, and they're usually the ones that I blog about, on Steemit.
Typically, the books I look for are not shelved in the same space and, sometimes, one or more of the three subjects that I haunt are, noticeably, missing or what's on offer is slim pickings. Neither was the case in this dear-so-soon little bookstore.
To my pleasant surprise, all three subjects I was hunting for were well-represented and placed on one table, near the entrance, as though they were in intimate conversation with one another (which, in my head, they frequently are).
I took a seat, ready to make new friends. My poem, below, is inspired by this experience
The Unclassifiables
At a round table they sat, called a truce
to discuss the indestructible world
and meditate upon eternal things
Like triplets, separated at birth
each possessed a portion of their truth
yet only made sense in unison
Tired of jockeying for position
addressing mind, body or spirit, alone
they came, like jealous gods, to save us
Unable to shirk their messianic callings
together they preached liberation,
through odes to joy and manuals of love
With myth and parable, the defiant muse
reminded us of the art of being present
and then how to vanish without a trace
More variations on the old themes: of exile,
homecoming, how to cut to the essence
of our humanity and unquenchable thirst
In the corner of a small bookshop, they convened
Philosophy, Spirituality and Poetry
temporarily reconciled to share their wisdoms.
© Yahia Lababidi
Shared on Twitter