Skip to main content

SHE



She was a girl of little importance..

She was not a damsel or a princess.

But there was fire in her eyes.

The fire of determination.

Fire of dreams to be fullfilled.

She never saw it ,but others did.

But others never understood it ,but she did.

She always dreamt of her future prince.

Her shining eyes and glossy lips always waited for the arrival of her prince.

One day.

She met her prince,the charming one who came on white horse,

she believed destiny made them meet,

And she prayed let the same destiny unite them!!

Days passed.

Everyday she saw him.

But she was afraid to come out of her shell.

Another day.

As she walked, he came.

He walked towards her.

she paused.

As he reached closer her heart wrenched from its seat.

And now there is no distance  between them.

He smiled and reached for her lips.

she closed her eyes.

They kissed.

It was deep.

He looked at her.

She tried to be normal..

But there was nothing normal around her

..everything seemed to be an illusion..

when their eyes met she was carried away to a wonderland...

He took her hand and knelt down..and asked

Will you sign the column of mother for OUR future kids..??

she  smiled.

Yes.

She felt as if all the pearly gates are opened for them..

He carried her away to his PARADISE  in his horse back...

.

.

.

.

Ouch..

Something hit her head.

Oops...

The Maths teacher!!

The Teacher yelled and stared at her with bulging red eyes.

She was lashed out.

She smiled standing outside the  classroom veranda..

Waiting for her prince to come...!!!



A.C




Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Murmurings of Married Women

  I hear murmurings from the graveyard In the West of the town,  Of married women,  Dead and disappeared years ago.  I wonder what a time they had,  What a life they lived.  Their husbands weep and weep and forget them,  They praise how they looked after their women,  Covering in glittery gold,  Buying them silly silks,  Giving makeup for a make-over.  But still, the women murmur,  Their voices seem to break the edges of tombs.  They force the sun to dry out the flowers on them quickly.  I lowered my face and listened to the tombs,  It seems their lipstick was revolting,  Their eyelashes lifted to show the desperation.  They talk about the lies they had to live through,  In fear of strangers' pointing fingers on getting a hint on their unhappy marriages.  They call out their abusive partners,  Told me to look for the broken bangles behind the kitchen for proof,  The blood-stained clo...
Post a Comment
Read more

A Call for One More Summer Swim

  Dear Oliver,    Last summer was not only about freshly smelling grass and ripened peaches to me, it became something more than that because of you. Your arrival to help my father taught me lessons for a lifetime. It was you who gave meaning to my summer, to my days and its absurdities. When I first saw you, little did I realise that you are going to unravel the real Elio, an Elio who was so much in love. An Elio who was so confused at the choices of his love and who showed the courage to confront it no matter what. I remember when you whispered to me "Call me by your name and I'll call you by mine", the time when I felt as if the four lettered word Elio pouring out from your mouth is all I wanted to listen to in this entire universe. But sometimes life offers us a different path, away from what we actually want.  I still remember the fun we had at Bergamo, the way you kissed me secretly pressing against the walls, never did I experience that feeling ever again. Bec...
Post a Comment
Read more

Most Nights We are Alone

  Most nights we are alone,  Trying to form a shape,  Wrecking with the pain of a bleeding heart,  In desperation to flatten the lump formed in the throat,  Trying to keep it as calm as possible Not to wake our partners beside us.  Most nights we are alone,  Clenching onto pillows,  Playing loud music,  Pretending sleep,  While we writhe in pain.  Most nights we are alone,  Thinking of faces that promised company,  Faces of people we assumed would hug us,  Hands that we thought would caress us,  And talks that we registered would soothe us.  Most nights we are alone,  Peeling off our gender,  Searching for an identity,  Making sense of our essence,  Organizing our anger,  Revolting against the structure,  Living past the breaking point,  Storming a mysterious body.  Most nights we are alone,  Cursing the dreams we believed,  Blaming the instincts that spurred...
Post a Comment
Read more