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.
With due regards to listed and unlisted great stories and met and un-met story tellers; I have grown up with...