Fairy Tales in Trunks

Pages which turn moldy, slimy,

And crumble into white ash,

Were once enameled,

And then mites came over and over,

Gnawing the enamel coated years away.

They ate through the skin,

Then started on the flesh,

Not once did that hurt,

No pain that the facade showed,

They just gnawed the memories away.

And one day ants ate the mites away,

They bit and snapped,

Hurt and pained,

They pinched and clawed,

Some mites remained…

And sprays didn’t work,

On these mites or on the ants,

The pages turned yellow and then green,

When the book was taken out,

It fell apart,

With the relics of some ants and mites,

None of the pages flew,

Just parts,

Unreadable words that vapourised.

The story ends right here,

Never got to know what fable it told,

There were no silver armoured princes,

Who rode white stallions,

Rode like the wind…

To sleeping princesses

currently listening to: radiohead, tokyo police club, the fray

currently reading: pukhraj (gulzar)
current mood : pathetic

recently watched : rab ne bana de jodi (yeah i know i have sunk to a new low), balls of fury, bill and ted (adventures and bogus journey),andaaz apna apna