• winter_dreams 4w


    I'm stuck somewhere between
    Fairy tales and tragedies.
    I remember the time
    I saw a girl holding barbie doll at 10
    Watching princess movies,
    When happy endings for me
    Were watching the T-20 finale with dad
    And our team winning.
    And tragedies were discussed
    When Pikachu refused to open its eyes,
    the Power Ranger's fight
    Or the Richie Rich's loss.

    I remember the high pony tails
    Not the shiny flicks of slivery moon
    Adorning the ocean with giggles.
    I remember the Polo T-shirts
    And the first earrings I owned too,
    That visited the party jumping
    Over my self conscious gown
    And hair sprayed bun.

    And in the snap of a finger,
    Without any gauntlet
    I saw the world turn upside down
    And missed what vanished, delusional.
    I found the solace in the journey of
    Paulo Coelho's alchemist
    Who taught me wiseness and love
    At 1 a.m.

    But it was strange
    When I found a different part of solace
    In Chetan Bhagat's pages,
    A virtue, I thought belonged strictly
    To the fault of John Green's stars
    And The walk Nicholas Sparks told to remember.

    But the screen glaring at me while
    Flipping pages of the Half-girlfriend
    Was the wet screen that filled me with
    Ecstasy beyond words,
    In the Khaled Hosseini's Kite Runner
    Or the excitement of the wet yellow stains of
    "A Thousand Splendid Sun's" flipping pages.

    So when the evening gowns tried to
    Take over the loose T-shirts and skinny jeans
    One evening,
    The silence of the screaming mascara was loud.
    And the chills of the last over of
    The world cup finale
    When tried to match the climax of
    The Disney movies played
    Or how the Me before You's wept silently with the Marvel's in a corner
    While a Bollywood cliché made me cry.

    The sobs didn't answer the question,
    Nor did the man who taught me to read newspaper, eat chocolates or interpret run rates
    And vanished somewhere
    In the snap of that finger.

    And a mess was left behind, confused
    Searching the answers every night,
    On the marks of moon, thinking
    How wil this fair-agedy turn out to be.


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    And a mess was left behind confused
    Searching the answers every night,
    On the marks of moon thinking
    How wil this fair-agedy turn out to be.