My Baby

A gift that was taken away,
Before I could hold in my arms,
The sweet fruit of tender love,
Gone forever from a life she never knew...

My baby, taken away,
Snatched by the eyes of the jealous,
Stabbed by the mouths that speak no good,
Killed by those who believed not in her capabilities.

My baby, my hope for a fuller life,
My one and only hope for completion.
Of a life already cheated.
They took her away, they took her away.

Murdered for no wrong doing of yours,
Denied life for the sake of someone else's crime,
How I long to hold u, my baby,
But now you are no more.
Rest In Peace...

XYZ

The Aftermath

After the destruction and after the war,
The rubble must be collected and pieces should be put back together.
The mess needs to be cleaned up and all must come back to normal.
Brick by brick the monument must come back.
It's beauty should be brought back to life.
Its demolition may have been unforeseen
But its beauty was bound to attract the unexpected enemy.
Stone and strife, brick and bone,
Blood, sweat and all.
Come together now and reform what was before.
Slowly yet firmly build ye more stronger
Than ever before was known.
Of shattered life, grow from the debris
Not once, ever again, to be broken by one such as the enemy.

What becomes of a story...

A true life story told time and time again
loses its charm and emotion with its repetition.
Be it by the original teller of the story or those who take it forward.
The life and love stories once told by you may have had so much of detail
and so much of expression that you could not contain it within anything less than 30 minutes.
But after telling it one too many times, wont u find the same story narrated in a matter of 10 mins?

So what is it? what makes 'The fox and the grapes' a story of 5 minutes?
When it might have been expressed with more details by the fox himself.
What makes Cinderella sound so fictional?
Unless of course you heard it from her tongue.
Then would everything be explained the way you hear it now?

With the passage of time, our stories begin to lose feeling.
They are drained of the experience and the lessons you learnt and the things you felt.
They transform from 'first person life experiences' to mere stories.
And all that's left is fact and no emotion.
Probably, somewhere down the line, listeners will call it fiction; made up.

Someday, you will stop telling your story, for the same reason that it holds no charm anymore.
That the characters in your story moved faster than you wanted them to.
Whats a protagonist without an antagonist right?
And your story will fade away like unrecorded literature, unpainted pieces of art.
And suddenly it wont matter to you anymore.
Suddenly, the fact that you're broken won't matter anymore
Suddenly, the feeling of attachment for the incident will fade.
and mostly narrating it won't engulf you in the same emotions you felt when you narrated it for the 1st time.

It lived for the time that it could hold its beauty.
Now it has reached a point where all emotion dies and fact reigns.
Your tragic life experience that once brought tears to the eye when narrated
Now a part of the past that's better left there.
A lifetime of emotion reduced to a tale of fiction.
What becomes of a story? Very little I'd say...

She doesn't know...

She doesn't know why she's here
She doesn't know if she should be.
She doesn't know what has brought her here.
She doesn't know why and how either.

She doesn't know how weak her heart is.
She doesn't know what is strength.
She doesn't know what it's like to feel.
She doesn't know what is love.
She doesn't know what is hate.
She doesn't know what its like to live.
She doesn't know what is death.

She doesn't know why the sun rises.
She doesn't know why the clouds move during the day.
She doesn't know that the moon is not a planet.
She doesn't know that dreams come true.
She doesn't know that hard work pays off.

She doesn't know how to speak
She doesn't know what can kill her
She doesn't know who gave her life
She doesn't know darkness from light
She doesn't know what its like to fight
She doesn't know how to read 
She doesn't know what are numbers
She doesn't know a lot that we do
She doesn't know who we are.

Ignorance is bliss, I'd say
I'd give everything to start learning all over again.
To start knowing from nothing.