Reading on the Train

I missed reading,

While commuting,

From Essex to London,

For work, and the best thing,

Was the precious time I used to get on the trains,

Which I used to read,

New books, with fresh scent of paper, glue and ink,

Or the old ones, smelling of their previous owners' finger prints,

With tea and coffee cup stains,

And some fold marks at the corner of pages,

Sometimes with hidden treasures of forgotten bookmarks, notes and memories,

While the train is rocking you all over,

And while some strangers are looking over your shoulder,

Some are then checking you over,

Forming an opinion about what type of person you are,

And why you might be reading that book, and not other.

But how could they have any idea,

About why you might be reading that particular book, and not another.

It is your like, it is your like, it is your time of leisure.

And it is simply yours, so don't let others to put you off ever.

Such a joy it is to read on the trains,

What an experience it is.

I missed reading,

While commuting,

From Essex to London,

For work, and the best thing,

Was the precious time I used to get on the trains,

Which I used to read,

New books, and old books, and anything I liked, and everything.

(Also shared on 24/7 Poems 24/7 Tales )