When all it took to shield the sun was a thumb,
And there was no one, who, to your whims wouldn’t succumb,
When your smile was all it took, those angry faces to mend,
To such a life, you never knew there could be an end.

Those smirking behind those smiles, you never could comprehend,
Their anxiety at your growth, they never could apprehend,
As if rendered helpless, the Gods above, did never descend,
When the dreaded time came, your innocence, to defend.

Left by itself, it has the inevitable reality to fend,
And the knowledge, about new feelings you could offend,
Alas! If growth were not such a sordid compromise,
Every single child would love to be called wise.

For wisdom is a mere awakening to reality,
One where actions are but reactions to necessity,
Where thoughts are constricted by walls of possibility,
And the mind is confined into shackles of social nobility.

Where are those days, when sunshine meant playtime,
And the slightest pangs of hunger signalled lunchtime,
When money was a problem, never on your corner,
And never gave a thought to love or a life partner.

When the only tasks of the day, were fun and frolic,
And the thing you least cared about, was logic,
When there were caring fairies and guardian angels around,
And a big good God above, who made the world go round.

It is sad, maybe, that children cannot pinch themselves awake,
For they are the only ones, who can live, awake in a dream,
And to grow up, are willing, that very childhood to stake,
Only to realise, they are awake, but no longer in a dream.

Finally back after about a month criss-crossing South India, and the first thing I happen to come across, is a post by Aparna on fairytales and how she seemed to get more practical about them after once firmly living them. It struck me about how little children always want to grow up and when they do, they find ‘the grass on the other side was always greener’, and quite a lot of them who find idle time all through adulthood, sit back and get thinking of what we wouldn’t sacrifice to spend a day, an hour or even a few minutes as those children we knew ourselves to be. The irony being, that a few years ago, we just couldn’t wait to grow up and do all those ‘important things’ that grownups did. This one is dedicated to you-know-who(for those who came in late that meant Aparna) who managed to get me into another bout of ‘manic depressive longing’ for those ‘good old days’.


3 Responses to “Fairytale”

  1. Aparna Says:

    I don’t know if you could tell. but today I’ve been reading your posts..back from 2007. Although, I’m not good at expressing in words, what I really feel like, let me tell you this..you are probably one of the most intelligent guys I think I’ve known ( although I don’t really know you..I guess heard your name a couple of times in college but never really associated name to a face..
    Your posts are making me think about things I would’ve never given much thought to, otherwise…a completely different perspective..how the hell do you do it?

    • guptaghost Says:

      thanks. frankly i dont quite know that myself. and dont want to either. because these poems are the expressions of my exploration of these feelings/thoughts/events/etc. the day i figure why things happen the way they do, the magic will stop.

      so i guess, i simply dream on paper. sometimes comes out good (meaning 70% of the people can understand), sometimes comes out wierd (meaning 5% can understand, and that it’s abstract). right now it’s like 50-50, though i would love that ratio to be 80-20. πŸ˜€

      so keep reading.

      • guptaghost Says:

        oh, and btw,

        everybody is good with words. nobody just finds their work interesting. we always like the other person’s work more. call it aspiration/dissatisfaction/ambition/self-denial, its finally about the other thing being better. read above about the grass πŸ˜€ πŸ˜‰

        So just try loving your work more, and lots more beautiful things will happen.

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