Thursday, 1 September 2016


I've started hating fairytales
They are way too sinful
To be belived
The beauty, the happiness
That they project is unreal.
And I feel fooled
Because, I believed all that
Once upon a time.

Why, I don't know.
But, yes.
I did believe in
Every bit of
Happily ever afters
Those unreal forevers,
Which must have felt
Ditched even on the
Paper they were scribbled on.

Someone's imagination
Someone's craving
Someone's passion
Someone's desire
And they call it a
Goddamn fairy tale.

Yes! It's unreal
Yes! It doesn't exist
So what?
Who are you to call
It a silly fiction?

How do you know
How real is
Someone's pain, struggle
Desire and passion.

Exactly, you don't know
You know nothing
And that is presicely
Why you call it an unreal tale
Or a fairy tale or a fiction.

And I have refused to
Believe what you want me to

Every morning is not a
Bright sunny morning
Some mornings are
Worse than those lonely nights
Some nights are more
Comforting than those
Wicked mornings.

All that is written
In that fairy tale is a lie
But, the one who has written it
Is not a liar.
The storyteller must have been
Someone who had craved for
All those bright sunny happy times
But those cravings wouldn't have subsided
And maybe that's how a tale teller emerged.

Every bit written on
That paper of the that
Fairy tale is a proof
Of unadulterated lies
Every emotion with which
Each word was written on
That sheet is real.

Each partical of that emotion
Must have been so real
And painfully beautiful
That it tries to absorb
Others pain,
By fooling them with
A shade of a
Rainbow world.

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