A story hides in me, 

Waiting to be read,


Readers savor me, 

Nerds devour me,


Some are quick, 

some make me sick.


An old book store is my new home,

With coordinates nondescript,


They call me second hand,

But, I am a wise old book.


I survived graphite marks,

With the chatter of sibilance,


These marks on me, 

Like jewels I adorn.


I live with other wise friends,

Just like me, to share the mirth,


Of the whiff of vanilla scent,

That emanates from my old paper, adhesive and ink,


That’s the scent of an old book,

The scent of me.




I am Smitha from, Kochi, India which is in Kerala. Kerala is also called God's Own Country. I was an HR by profession and I career- transitioned into Writing because I am very passionate about it. I love writing poems as it fulfills my creative expression. I have a poem for every occasion. 


This poem "The Scent of an Old Book" was written on a winter morning in Delhi, amidst the thick fog and I was seeking warmth in the comforts of my home in winter clothing and sipping creamy hot choc. But, there was something amiss. Of course, it was the scent of an old book.