reading Tagore’s story,
“Once there was a king”,
the mind wanders,
taking the characters
and living them.
wishing to tell stories to a child
and see their eyes wide
with wonder and curiosity,
stories of kings and palaces,
of princesses and princes,
of demons and powerful knights,
of animals and nature..
countless stories whirling within
since i was a kid
all those stories i read
don’t remember any of it exactly,
but the images keep whirling within
the words keep resounding.
and look at the world of adults now.
forgotten the very possibility of fairy tales,
cynical, busy, routine life takes its toll,
no one is ever curious,
no one even thinks about fairies, except in movies.
no one wonders in the thoughts
a quick and instant entertainment is what everyone wants.
what happened to the looking out of the window
and staring at te starry night sky?
what happened to wandering in the woods
and collecting leaves of different shapes and colour?
what happened to gazing at the river dreamily
wondering if there was a palace deep in the waters?
i too am as much guilty though.
i have “grown up”, i’m an adult now
and have responsibilities,
i can no longer wander and gaze
or “waste time” with thoughts of magical wonder.
that’s why i hide behind these stories
and live them, even if for a few moments,
i cross the woods and wander the dark bravely,
i find things needed to help someone in danger,
i can be a prince or princess or a fairy,
the world of wonder is always there
in these books..