By Tripura Ranade Arora
"Not a fairytale. Not even close."
He never asked for shiny sparkles,
Was confused beneath the cinder.
He tried to clear himself each day,
But a few things always linger.
No one knew he was broken,
Just called him 'one of a kind'.
Labeled him 'sweet' or 'a slow bloomer',
No one bothered to further find.
Deprived of mirrors in life,
He never dared to seek his own glance.
In the chaos of garlands and lifelong vows,
He kept waiting for his fairytale romance.
He sweeps the midnight dreams,
But ashes cling in stubborn ways.
He wears a glass slipper he never chose,
And stumbles through a dancing maze.
A pumpkin carriage, a godmother soul,
A coachman he could barely trust.
He plays the ballroom dress-up alone,
And waits for a touch of fairy dust.
Maybe someday, he truly might,
Go to the ball, wearing his crown.
Come out, dance, and float with pride,
Live the fairytale he never wrote down.
Unbothered of the midnight strokes,
He hopes his prince will spell him bound.
A wish is born in a simpler time,
A happy ending waits to be found!