Tale.

Cozy morning light
Funneling its way through dreams
Closing in on us

Feeling warmth of days
Stemming out of unmade beds
We lie now as one

You- falling apart
And me in the worst time frame
Frozen still in sheets

Unrestricted white
Falling into hues of peach
You and I lay bare

Concluding fallout
I walk away from you, naked
The end of our myth

Scarred Feet

I have a story. Come
Close, I shall let you hear.
They're inscribed on my feet
History and past.

Count the number of scars,
Each one has a tale
And under the streetlight
Let us sit to hear them
Straight away. Like you
Were the creator unknown
To your sin. You were
The silence we left at the brim.

Come try to comfort them-
Scars of an age, that
You know not of like I do.
Come weep tears of sympathy
Now, because tomorrow they'll
Tell a different tale.

Treasure this sight under
The streetlight bright, and
Tell me how justice for
Love is served. Tell me
That you will unravel
The secrets, even those I
Know not myself.

Whisper words of wisdom
Speak of how a time will come;
When the scars disappear but
The feet remain-unmarked in
Deep histories. Come close,
I shall let you hear
The darkest times tell a tale-
Of surprise and distress
All the same. Come close,
O stranger, let you hear
My scarred feet tell a tale.

Come close, O loved one,
Hear me out. My scarred feet
Aren't still out of tales.

Dear Prince Charming

Dear Prince Charming,

I saw you walk down our favourite lane, hand-in-hand with the girl next door everyone speaks about.
Scarlet dress, blue eyes, supple skin, brave heels.
I notice how you take your steps with her, examining and thinking, mapping and wondering, either to put your heel down before your toe or otherwise, just so that your shoe makes a louder noise.
You hold her hip, like you practiced with me, rounded around her waist so perfectly.
And she melts over you like chocolate sauce on my sundae, merging together the disastrous imperfections.
Both of you fail to notice me walk down the same street, struggling my way into the house with bags of bonbons for my younger sister and groceries for my nagging mother.
I observe how slowly your lips break into a smile and she laughs throwing her head back and turning to you.
I wonder which joke you had told her, was it the one about the shop we used to buy racquets from? Or about how your father dealt with the police complaint?
Dear Prince Charming, I know you so well that I understand how limited your sense of humour is. But repetition makes it funnier and our jokes never get old.
I can still remember the night your hand melted into mine and you held me through the night, just in comfortable silence.
And how you held two cups of coffee in your hand for two whole hours outside the interview hall, expecting me to walk out in need of it..
I heard from the redhead neighbour we usually hang out with, that you asked her to the summer dance. It surprised me. Our rhythmic practices for three odd months is wasted upon a girl we used to make fun of?
She wears short skirts, red lipstick, stunning mascara and phony personality. She stood you up, the night we first spoke and you choose to take her to the dance we've practiced for together.
She could never belong to anybody and here I am, giving all I have to just bring you back to me.
But I cross my heart in pregnant pain and realize that, Dear Prince Charming, you're settling for less than a Princess and I'm positive that this is your loss.