Sunday, 30 March 2014

Her companion

Shivering with fright, she covered her head with a blanket.

It was 3 am, the hands of the clock said, sleep was not agreeable.

The shadows on the wall, the images in her mind flashed again before her eyes.

Why did he have to end his life like that?

His nightmares were a constant companion.


This post is written for five sentence fiction with the prompt companion

Saturday, 29 March 2014

I was tempted

I knew this day was to come.
He would leave me.
Beyond repair.

We could never be, 
he'd said.
I continued to love him.

 Each broken bit, 
Each inch of my being, 
Filling his flaws with my reason.

I drowned in his delicious words, 
Carried away by his waves, 
Surrendered my being. 

My body lit up at his name, 
My voice shook with anticipation
Fingers trembled at his thought.

What a sight he was!
Butterflies invaded my tummy, 
Words they were stuck.

In a whirl, as a storm would. 
Destroying me bit by bit. 
Upsurged my heart they did.

I was dying each day.
Yet loving him was deliciously sinful.
What was I to do? 

I was tempted.
I'm still tempted.

This post is a part of Write Over the Weekend, an initiative for Indian Bloggers by BlogAdda.

Friday, 28 March 2014

What are you running from?

"What are you running from?" She read the scribble in the book lying on her lap.

Those few words made her heart race, it was as they were meant for her.

She'd drowned herself in literature.

Since when had literature begun to ask questions?

Sighing gently she turned the page.


Wednesday, 26 March 2014

Ben's Story

The world through the eyes of a child, when I read the prompt such possibilities ran through my head! I wanted the post to be childlike and innocent, devoid of any worry, free flowing as such. So I've come up with Ben's story. One that is quite easy to relate to, the vocabulary limited to a ten year old's. The poem, a child's rant. I hope I have done justice to the same.


I am a little boy,
A little boy of ten.
I'm not so old I suppose,
So my name is little Ben.

My father calles me Benjamin,
For that's my whole name.
My mother she calls me Benny,
Why can't everyone call me the same?

For I quite like the name Ben,
It makes me feel cool.
That's who my favourite hero is.
Ben Ten to the rescue!

I live in the old white house,
On the corner of the street.
It's the perfect place to live in, 
For my friends in the corner I meet.

We have a special hiding place,
A place that no one knows,
It's behind the fence of my old house,
Underneath the water hose.

I play with my best friend Jimmy, 
Although I call him Jim.
What's with adults and all the long names?
I don't understand a thing!

Jim and I have been best friends, 
For as long as we could be.
He has a lot of pretty toys, 
That he always shares with me!

For mum says I can have more toys,
When I'll stop being so naughty.
You're always hiding from my reach.
And pulling pranks on Lottie.

Now who is Lottie you may ask.
She is my little baby sister.
I like to pull her hair at times,
Her favourite candy is twister!

I think my mommy and daddy,
Do love her more than me.
She's always getting more presents,
She's only three you see.

But mommy says she loves us both, 
And made me a chocolate pie.
For chocolate pie is my favourite dish,
That I can't deny.

I heard my daddy tell mommy,
Just the other day,
We're running out of money soon,
We need to find a new way.

I suppose I could give them my piggy bank,
Although it doesn't have much. 
I was saving up for my favourite bicycle. 
I'm not using it as such.

But mommy says I needn't do that, 
She gave me a tight hug and kiss.
Now daddy's gone away some more,
Him do I terribly miss.

He does send home a lot of toys,
Toys I now share with Jim.
There's even some for Lottie.
Although mum is always grim.

Jim says its because daddys away,
That mum is always so sad.
He's quite the sensible boy I think, 
For he doesn't have a dad.

So I try to be a good boy,
A better boy for my mum.
I don't play pranks on Lottie either,
As we wait for dad to home come.


What comes to mind for the March WEP challenge - Through the eyes of a child? Rewriting a passage from a child's POV? A montage of images through the eyes of a child? A poignant or exhilarating poem? A non-fiction piece told from a child's POV? The possibilities are limitless!

To read more click Write.Edit.Publish

Shadows of yesterday

"Please be mine", she whispered.

"I can't" he said.

"Had it been another situation, another day, another life."

With that, farewell did he bid.

She followed the shadow his footsteps cast.

Image: google

Tuesday, 25 March 2014

Girl against the world

Do you have fire they asked?
Do you breathe that air?
The one that's needed today.
To make you a successful heir.

Are there types I asked?
Stumped by the lot.
Yes, they said glumly, 
Tell us what have you got?

Do you have the passion, 
To take what it needs?
A drive for success,
A hunger like greed?

I am but a child,
I said, small and shy.
You'll crumble in a day,
They said, should you even try.

For no person is spared,
In this race we call life.
You've got to face it all,
The elation,  the strife.

What happened after,
Wouldn't you like to know?
I'm still a learner in life. 
I'm taking things slow.

Image: Painting by Bella Pilar

On fading


Musky, woody, manly.

A dash of citrus and lime.

Lingering in the air around her.

His fragrance fades with time.


Image:Taken from here

Monday, 24 March 2014

Admission of hell


The pages of life
Crumpled a bit
Burning bright
Slowly Unfurling

Revelations are at large
A mystery unravelled 
Shocking all
Your Illfate

Battered diaries I have
With folded corners
Leather bound
Nostalgic Musky

My Demons playing inside
Hide and seek
Silly game
In the Slaught

He dies unnatural death
An eternity doomed
Fearsome ways
Into hell


Image google

Sunday, 23 March 2014

Being accepted

You don't belong,
They said.
Go play elsewhere.

Driven away
Too many times
Suddenly he found


A place of belonging
A safe haven

Not between people,
But among words.
His words.

Image: google

Slow death


Entwined around the branches
Does it crawl, slowly,
Seemingly deliberate. 
Clasping around it's heart, 
A slow death of deceit.




For I shall hold on to you, 
As the last drop falls. 
Your eyes, a source of my fancy.
Let them not run dry, 
And I shall never leave.



Saturday, 22 March 2014

A dream that couldn't be

You stood in front of me. That handsome dazzling smile on your face. A look of pure bliss surrounding you. You looked so happy, content.

It wasn't for me though, I knew right away.

You looked my way, and I saw you go from happiness to disbelief in a matter of seconds. Almost like you didn't want me there. I had thought that I'd  surprise you, but I never thought that you'd be returning the favor.


She'd been so excited to meet me,me being your supposed friend. I felt insulted by the use of that term. I knew better than that. It had been less than a month,that the two of you had met.  Silently my eyes met yours. Your eyes held a pleading look, almost to say to me, not to reveal anything. Little by little my heart was breaking.
She kept gushing on as to how wonderful you are. How amazing it was to have met you. And I felt likewise. Even though I hadn't ever said it out loud to you. Neither did you. It wasn't ever necessary. Yet that day hearing her say those kind words about you, it felt like my heart was being squeezed inside my chest. Like something was suffocating me from within.

I helplessly looked on. Why did you look at me so? What were you trying to tell me?  I couldn't understand, I thought I did before. But now I wasn't too sure.

" It's happened so fast, I can't believe we're in love. "

This broke me out of my daze. Love? How could it be? I snapped my head towards you. 

You looked away. I couldn't stop the overwhelming feeling wash over me.

She held your hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze. You held it up and gently kissed it. I couldn't take it anymore. This nightmare like feeling. Like the whole world had stopped. Like I couldn't breathe at all. Gasping for air I stood up. And looked away. Anywhere but you. I squeezed my eyes shut, threatened by the tears that could spill over.

I Opened my eyes.

It was only then I realized, my tears being soaked by the soft fabric beneath my cheek. And I was gasping for air. 

It was only a dream!

I felt relieved, glad that it didn't happen. A dream that couldn't possibly be true.

But I knew better, a voice in my head whispered, " You and I could never be." And someday I know, this dream will come true.

Friday, 21 March 2014


On the occasion of world poetry day, I would like to share a part of me, my life, my poetry. My poetry is rather straight from the heart, my emotions compel me to write down each verse with a raw sense of being. Hence the following verse was penned down today.


And so the poetry flows,

In that direction where my heart goes. 
What happens after, who knows? 
The story of my life shall tell.


For I do not know where life shall take me, but wherever I shall be, there shall be poetry.


My Favorite poem is death be not proud. I could read this over and over again and still be lost in the words.


Wednesday, 19 March 2014

Priceless moments

A mother laments,
For he's always away,
The father of her child,
Her husbands gone all day.

The evening approached quietly,
As the sun set behind the sky,
Her baby was growing restless,
He had begun to cry!

She sang a little song,
To keep him at bay.
It went on in this manner,
Here's what she had to say.

"Oh little baby,
Shall you not go to sleep?
Oh my little baby,
Please do not weep.

The night sky has darkened,
The stars twinkle bright!
A blanket it is,
Of dreams in your eyes.

Oh little baby,
Papa isn't coming now,
Oh sweet baby,
Do I explain to you how?

For papas running late,
He's working hard for you,
It may be hard to imagine,
At the tiny age of two.

It's all for you sweet baby,
For when you grow older,
A life he wants to give you,
With no trouble on your shoulder.

Don't be crying now,
He shall be coming soon,
Please stop whining now,
You're up since noon!

It may seem absurd,
When he stays away from you,
It may seem silly,
The hours left are few.

He's suffering in your absence,
I can see it in his eye.
He loves you so dearly,
Oh why do you sigh?"

The baby thinks to himself,
"Why papa does so?
He's doing it all for me.
Yet far from me does he go.

I need him now to hold me
Make me fall asleep,
On his shoulder, in tender care,
To wipe my tears as I weep."

He had missed his first steps.
As also the first uttered words.
No effort he made to be home early,
It was beginning to get absurd!

Perhaps the money shall be made,
When the baby grows older.
For now he's missing the priceless moments,
Blissful seconds with his toddler.


Painting by Laxman Aelay. Taken from an online article

Tuesday, 18 March 2014


"Look! That one looks like a tree," Lilly giggled.

"That one is an octopus silly," grins Ben.

"How can you call a tree an octopus benny?" she wailed. "It is a tree! Look closer."

"How could I possibly go any closer to the clouds lilly? Besides You're silly lilly!" He stuck his tongue out to her.

She huffed and puffed away from there. Not wanting to show how hurt she felt.

Yes, childhood love it was. Still is.
And shall be, always.


Image: Google

Random scibblings: Super

A few taked on Super.


What power he emits!
Such strength he displays!
A superhero is born.


No you're wrong, he screams.
My daddy is a superhero!


Working in the spider section gave him the creeps.
Her favorite was spiderman.


He's my super grandchild she says.
He'd boldly saved nani from the falling building.


Little bobby was taking obsession to another level.
Red underwear over blue pants.


You mean daddy isn't a hero?
She cries.
"He is little one.
A martyr for the nation."
Not all heros are indestructible.


I'm a housewife, she said.
Oh you're a superwoman?


"Hulk is a monster," I cringed.
He has good inside him mommy.
We all do.


Supper? He texted.
I danced with joy.
Super!* sorry for the typo.


I still sing that one!


How do I look?
Super! He said always.
She sighs at his vocabulary.


Saturday, 15 March 2014

Words too many: My dream Library

My little collection of books by my bedside.

It had been five days that I hadn't written a single word. It’s not very often that happens to me mind you. I do tend to scribble at least two lines a day. Did I finally have the famous writer's block? 

Browsing through Indisprire, I fell in love. Literally. With an idea! My dream library. Such ideas ran through my head! The authors, the books I have wanted to read for the longest time. I could feel the excitement run through my veins. There’s far too many books that I would like to read. I will begin from the ones I have already read.

I quickly snapped a photo of my bedside books. My current library comprises of  around 500-550 books.( I wish I had more *sigh*) A major chunk of them are Enid Blyton, Rudyard Kipling and other such books for children. They were my childhood books that I just can’t seem to part with. The little prince, Frankenstein, Pinocchio, White Fang, Malgudi Days, Sherlock Holmes, Judy blume, the famous five and Nancy drew were the books I read as I grew up. With teenage, my choice of books changed too. I now turned to Sidney Sheldon, Erich Segal, Mary Higgins and silly romantic Mills and boons. What a phase that was! ( Thank God it's over!)

Another shelf comprises of self motivational books by Robin Sharma, Tony Buzan, Jack Canfield and other such authors. This phase hit me as I completed my graduation. From chickenSoup to Whale done, from Who will cry when you die to the monk who sold his ferrari.
The greatness guide, Fish tales, project 50, Think Big! the art of oratory, Zen and the art of motorcycle, the 7 habits of highly effective people, the greatness guide, Biographies and what not. I was hooked. Phew!

Coming back to my bedside books. They are my favorite books out of all. They consist of all kinds of books ranging from classics such as Jane Austen: Pride and prejudice, Emma; Charles Dickens, Shakespeare, Scott Fitzgerard, Sir Walter Scott, Edgar Allen Poe, Thomas Hardy, Kenneth Grahame, Heidi, Uncle Tom’s Cabin, To kill a Mockingbird, A streetcar Named Desire, to newer authors such as Jean Sasson, Khaled Hosseini, Anjum Hassan, Zaidi Hussaini, Sudha Murthy, Paulo Coelho, Ken Follet. Let’s not forget the famous ones like Rowling, Cecelia Ahern, Chetan Bhagat and Arvind Adiga to name a few. I could perhaps spend a long time listing out the books there.

Poetry books has a dedicated corner on my table. Robert Browning, Alfred Lord Tennyson, Shakespeare,Tagore, John Berryman, Lord Bryon, William Blake, Cummings, W.B. Yeats, Longfellow. I'm drowning in their words as I write. There's far too many books that I would like to read more. 

The more I think about my dream Library, the more I add to the authors in my head. So when finally I know what I want, it is in the following manner.

My dream Library: I do not know which place that would be. My dream library is my very home. Where I would like to make a collection of my personal books. The ones I've read countless number of times. The ones I could quote from word to word. The size of the library would not matter, Although a library like Mr. Darcy’s at Pemberley would do, My Dream Library would be my favorite books, in a single place, right under my reach, right in my heart.

Me going through books.
Apparently I was lost in them :)

This post is for Indiblogger, Indispire. #DreamLibrary

Friday, 14 March 2014

The child within

My heart was a traveling
Along a rather lonely path,
It saw not grief or sadness.

Nor was it depressed,
Or upset by the world,
It chose this self inflicted madness.

Drowning in words,
Gulping in poetry,
Lost in a world so far.

Living that life,
A world privy to none,
One that was imagination at large.

I stayed in a corner,
Tucked in a book,
My nose was buried inside.

The world seemed moving,
At a pace too fast.
A safe haven was my book to hide.

When characters didn't suffice,
My thirst for books,
I took another way out.

I began to write,
Every essence of my soul,
Those words dissolved all doubt.

As I found myself,
Reflecting on those pages,
Pages from a land within.

I lost myself,
Once again.
To the little child staying within.

Tuesday, 11 March 2014

The truth

He discovered some truths on her death


A silent reminder
A chance encounter
Proof of existence
A constant companion

Your daunting gaze
Her shallow look
Departure it was
Those years ago

Now so surprised
He's her soul
Child of heaven.
Bliss of shade.

All these years
He suffered alone.
Childless by choice,
Choice of neglect.

Now his saviour,
She's gone away.
His child discovered
In her death.


Monday, 10 March 2014

Beyond this life

There's just something about the night, that makes me think about the world and beyond. On such a night do I begin this conversation with him. For when I'm lost in thought, I'm having a conversation with HimThe Creator.


My closest confidant are you,
A power deep within.
Oh Allah, In your praise,
Where shall I possibly begin?

You know what thought runs in my mind,
You know what I shall be.
You know me more than I could know,
My every breath do you see.

In sickness do you stand by me,
You bless me more in health.
You care for me when no one's around,
It only increases when people are there.

For a loving father have you blessed me with,
My mother's love a fraction of yours.
Brothers and sisters who stay by me,
To whom I can my heart pour.

Like a shadow do you accompany me, 
A constant reminder inside.
There's no denying your presence around.
Where could I from myself hide?

I see you in the morning light,
I see you in the eve.
I see you all throughout the day
I see you as I sleep.

You're present in the sound of the wind,
You're present as I write,
Watching as I submit my will,
In prayer shall I abide.

Your kindness is exemplary,
Your full might I shan't know.
Your guidance helps me through my life,
Seeds of hope do you sow.

You believe the best of me always,
You teach me how to forgive.
Your love for me knows no bound,
Beyond this life that I shall live.


Friday, 7 March 2014

Have you ever felt so?

Ten minute scibble, rants of the heart at 4 am.


Waking up in the early morning,
When the sun is yet to rise.
Realising the dream that you saw,
Still Vivid in your mind.
Scrambling to open your phone,
To note it all down.
Or Perhaps a handy book
At your bedside.
Describing your dream,
Yet pass it off as fiction later.

Have you ever felt so?

Reading a book,
Emotions running high
You tend to flow in them.
Then tragedy strikes.
Your mind numbs.
You try to soak it all in.
Push aside every thought.
Ponder over life as it is.
The way it could be.
The way it is.
The way it shall be?

Have you ever felt so?

The end rush
An overly feeling of joy
Wild ecstasy.
Pure vibrancy!
The happiness, the cheer
And all that you want to hear.
In knowing what tomorrow shall bring.
In delight your heart does sing.

Have you ever felt so?


Thursday, 6 March 2014

The ugly wristlet

I remember when I was a little girl; I wouldn't ever be seen with a wristlet. I felt uncomfortable, even rather embarrassed at times to be seen with a dangling purse around my wrist.

Then one fine day, I was gifted one. I must admit, that on first receiving it, I wasn't too thrilled. In fact I thought to myself, another one of those gifts that's going to lie in my wardrobe forever, until I have to clear it away for lack of space to store other such things. It was quite the rage, in fashion those days and considered to be very trendy. And I thought to myself, how stupid does it look, how uncomfortable it must be and how unsophisticated it seemed? Me, being the always so cautious and always being prepared for anything kind of person, always kept everything in my hand bag. How could a wristlet possibly compensate for the lack of Storage space?

Oh well, one day, while heading out, the odd bright wristlet caught my eye. Not because it was something that I'd remembered, but only because I was just going out for a casual meeting with old friends, catching up. How tedious it seemed to carry my massive size bag, for something that was so casual? I randomly stuffed a few bills, my phone, a couple of cards and tissues in there, and I was good to go!

After my evening out, I realized I was so much more comfortable, as I didn't have a giant size bag, to be carried along all evening on my arms. I wouldn't attribute the feeling solely on the wristlet, as catching up with old friends really does wonders to oneself, but yet again it was a good night. After that evening, I found myself increasingly carrying the wristlet along to various places. To the extent that, other than the most necessary places that required me to carry a handbag, I always preferred the wristlet.

What was firstly termed as ugly, hideous and uncomfortable was now trendy, comfortable and good to go. I realized that, the wristlet had grown on me. I couldn't do without it anymore.

Like the wristlet, there are many things in life that we are quick to judge. We deem them to be objects of no importance to us, but slowly they grow on us and often become an inseparable part of our lives. Don't be so quick to judge things, the way they are, maybe your perception towards them is wrong, or maybe you are indeed right. But only time can tell that. I hope you haven't discarded any valuable things from your life in that manner?

Image taken from

Wednesday, 5 March 2014

On Mother's Death

He saw the world through her eyes
Those eyes, they held his world.
For none could compare his love for her.
In her lap he'd stay curled.

In his life of ten and two years,
He had her beside him always.
I'll be with you forever,
Fear not my love, she says.

Her strenght he knew to be inside,
Wisdom filled those eyes to the brim.
She ever wore a stiff dress.
Her manner so neat and prim.

She could be stern to the world,
She could have perhaps been harsh.
But when he stood in front of her.
She turned but all into marsh.

She lay there resting in utter peace,
A calm look upon her face.
Whose lap would he keep his head on now?
How would the world he face?

She'd told him not to cry,
Not ever to shed a tear.
For now she said, through his eyes, 
she could see him face his fears.


Image: Painting by Pierre Renoir

Tuesday, 4 March 2014

The last kiss

An arranged marriage. Two lovers shall part forever.


So here I am,
Yours tonight .
Keep me in your arms,
And hold me tight.

We shall spend together,
Another night in bliss .
Kissing all night, tonight,
With nothing amiss.

For there's no tomorrow,
There's no turning back.
Let's make the most of it,
Because time do we lack.

Kiss away the sorrow,
Kiss away the pain.
Your memories shall stay forever,
What more could I gain?

A cliche story do we have,
A tale of heartache it is.
Even if I belong to another,
It is you that shall I miss.

And a gaping hole shall be left,
Left within my soul,
With you away from me,
How could I feel whole?

So I'm here tonight With you,
Tomorrow I shall be his.
Forget the pain and sorrow,
Let me drown in your kiss.


image: yours truly :)

Monday, 3 March 2014

The boy in the bookstore

Warning: This post contains silly teenage like drama. All out of sheer boredom!

What I'm about to write today is about an unsuspecting boy that I saw in the bookshop.

I don’t think he noticed me right there in the corner. There I stood on a lazy Sunday afternoon right in the middle of the dead section. By dead I mean the classics, due to the fact that these authors are long gone and secondly due to the fact that there's such less takers for the classics section of the bookstore. I'm often surprised at this.

Coming back to the boy at the bookstore, there I stood having an internal battle with myself to buy a book. Thomas Blake or Alfred Lord Tennyson? Well I could perhaps buy both, but then a mental image clicked in my head of the pile of unread books that has steadily increased in my room. Not due to lack of reading, but due to my habit of splurging an insane amount of money on books.
Now let me tell you here my bookshelf is so full that I need to literally squeeze my books in between the empty spaces (if I find any at all).
I promised myself just one book while leaving my house. I would keep it at that!

So anyway, I reached over for the top shelf and pulled out a book by Elizabeth Barrett Browning. For short people like me it can be quite the task! Which reminds me, perhaps I should I write a letter to the bookstore with my recommendations.

There he was coming towards me! My goodness he was a sight! Tall, well built and carrying a book in his hand! Wow. My ideal man I would say

Being fed on so many movies and novels where the hunky hero comes in to save the day, I expected my hunky hero to come and help me extract the book from the shelf.
But I'd already taken the book I wanted! Damn, there goes my chance to be rescued (not lliterally). I mentally kick myself. Stupid stupid girl! What were you thinking?

By that time I noticed he had passed by, looking at the next shelf.  Religious books were kept in that section.  Well they say don't judge a book by its cover, well I judge a person by the books he reads. 
There I stood trying to decipher the mystery of the man standing next to me.
Now let me make it clear here that I'm usually not so overly calculating in my head. Yes I'm a girl that over thinks a lot but not for strangers. Yet here I was thinking over a person who I didn't know at all. What was wrong with me?

I decided to distract myself back to my books. Contemplating which one I could buy. There I hear, "excuse me?"
I turn to look at the stranger, eyes wide. Did he perhaps notice my stare earlier?
I quickly looked his way, he wanted to get a book from the shelf, and I stood in his way.*sigh*

I was lost in my books for quite some time after. Perhaps twenty minutes had passed. I stood in the aisle reading poetry, while the stranger stood beside me, reading the book he had picked.
I peeked a sideways glance at him, before finally moving to the next section. Barely two minutes later, I could see the stranger browsing through the same books. Perhaps it was instincts that told me of his presence. I picked my book and moved to the payment counter. I plopped my books on the counter and stood waiting for my bill. From the corner of my eye I could see the boy stand near the exit of the bookstore. I found that to be rather weird. Maybe it was a whole silly coincidence. I shrugged it off once again.

Perhaps I'd been acting like a giddy teenager all along. As I stepped out the door, I heard someone clear their throat. "Hi, I'm Chintan," said the voice.
I looked up straight into the stranger's eyes, grinned and replied "Hi, pleased to meet you."

Perhaps I wasn't being silly after all.

Ps: I ended up buying four books in the end, resulting in a high that only a good paperback novel could induce.
Showcasing my books to any friend who dared to listen and making them feel that perhaps I've lost my marbles for good.

Sunday, 2 March 2014

Just for him

She stared at the knife in her hand.
Tears had begun to form.
Wiping them away with her sleeve,
She squeezed shut her eyes.
They were red, much like her mood.
Contemplating if she should carry on?

But, her husband loved it.
This was his favourite!
She couldn't tolerate it herself though.
She'd do anything for him.
Even if it tortured her!

It was a necessity for him.
The sweet flavour on his lips.
He enjoyed it thoroughly.
Wanting more and more everyday.

She'd gotten many cuts,
All over her fingers now.
Couldn't he consider her feelings?

Raising the knife in her hand,
She brought it down on the board.

Why did he love onions with each meal?


Image: Yours truly :)

Saturday, 1 March 2014

Pink dreams

Jiggling the coins in her hand,
She made her way to the beach.

Princesses lived on the color pink,
She knew. Maa said so.

One day you will be a princess,
Just wait and see.

A pink world, complete with clouds,
A world of love and candy!

A little girl of eight,
She dreamt of being a princess.

She'd seen the man sell fairytale wands,
Perhaps today she'd get her dream.

Image: Juhu beach :)