Are we not brought up, in stories?
Stories of hero worship, dark fearful nights
Soft tender tears, hot red lips
Fairy Mothers, frightful demons
Realms where magic and realism
Locked us up for a perpetual inter-play
Growing up and ‘living’ a story
Is all about the Story teller
Fearful ‘Dracula’ who entered my teeny nights
Was made up this unpredictable predator
By the cousin Story teller, than
Bram Stoker, as I learned later
Much after ‘Leslie and Richard’
Went their own ways
I stayed with the Soul mate;
“Bridge across Forever”
It was the story that I lived in,
Faith blinded, in the Story teller!
Teller can make you up and pull you down
A hero today is villain tomorrow
Abandoned fury; Bereft emotions
Erratic desires; Impromptu positions
Mix and shake them well
Teller can rapt a discerning listener
Teller can also cast a spell with the story
With made-up faces and un-made-up minds
Hewing a profile with vicarious feelings
With deceitful facts and illusory events
Teller webs a story, you ‘live in’
‘Make believe’; but beautiful!
Then one day, listener grows out of the story
Magic fades and sanity sets in
Tears turn phony, Lies lay bare
“The Gift was kept by my parents”
Said the Kid, “not by Santa Clause”.
Let that ‘wake up’ not hurt forever
Stories are told by Story teller
Characters seldom given to testify
A beginning and end carefully crafted
A long route that can have ‘twists in the tale’
I am learning to listen to stories as ‘Stories’
Not life in essence, every time.