I am giddy with excitement. I cannot wait to introduce him to the Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam and the masterful works of Kahlil Gibran. Specially, the latter that gave me so much support and strength in difficult times of my youth.
I discovered so many books at discount rates, strolling down streets, looking at colorful displays on rickety tables by the roadside. Buying a book and bringing it home, to snuggle in bed and read gave a sense of accomplishment, of fulfillment. Those were the days when the eyes were not blinded by artificial white glares. Those were the days when the mind was still open to discovery, untarnished by the need to engage in mindless and useless online debates. Books were bought with care and cherished; not hoarded into digital spaces because someone recommended the next best-seller. Reading was not competition; it was relaxation.
Today, my son does not appreciate free verse because Grammarly does not give the writing a full score. He is too young to understand metaphysical and spiritual concepts, the yearning and the response of the poets, but now he has set his eyes on these books and recognized these writers, he will reach out to them again and again.
This will, however, take some time. I am sure of that. Because, right now he is absolutely engrossed in the Captain Underpants series! I will patiently wait for Rumi, Gibran, and others to enter his life and give him solace.