Tell Me No More of Enchanted Days

I dreamt of you last night,  With long hair tied in a ponytail.  You followed me around On a dark forest road,  Watching me like a hawk.  And when I fell down  In a muddy ditch,  My clothes sullied and brown,  You offered me your hand,  Asking me if I was okay.  "What are you doing here?" I demanded, knowing very well That you had been protecting me All along under the garb of being aloof.  "I told you, I'm always right behind you," You said, as I held your hand to climb out.  I looked at your hair again.  It was much longer than I've ever seen.  You looked so different now,  Not the shy man I had known before.  "Where's your hairband now? " I asked, remembering the only time I had seen you in it, when my heart Had stopped to find you so beautiful,  Like a hushed breath that never makes a sound.  "Do you still think I'm sexy?" you asked.  "I think you are even more sexier than before, " I answered coquettishly with a lau

I haven't really understood shame. I haven't begun to understand what feeds and empowers it. After building up a lot of courage, I had finally put up a video of me singing a song. I generally don't put videos of myself anywhere because I can't control my expressions or flaws in a video. It's easy to choose a photo and put up the best version of yourself online. But you can't do that in a video. It is an unfiltered version that captures everything you've wanted to hide.  I'm used to my closest friends not encouraging my singing at all. Throughout my one year journey since I began, all I was told was, you stick to writing, please for God's sake, don't sing. I knew I was bad, but I wasn't ready to give up. I stopped sharing my singing videos with anyone. The only person who said good things about my voice was my son. In his eyes, I was perfect no matter what I did. Yes, he was biased because this was the voice that sang lullabies to him to put h

Far beyond the fields of the village, where the long grass grows, there is a patch of trees. They rise up above the green grass, covering the sky. If you stand underneath them, your skin looks green, as if you were swimming under a mossy lake, where sunlight finds it hard to penetrate.  Under the giant tree which has a trunk with a chipped out burrow, lies my home. To access this place, one has to dig with one's hands. Of course, not everyone likes to get their hands soiled, especially the fingernails. But if you do dig hard enough, you find a trap door.  It is a beautiful trap door, made like an antique with bars of black iron marking a solid design. The handle is the face of a lion, an almost long forgotten warrior's emblem. It is also a warning for weak willed people and intruders to keep out. If you trespass, I could come after you with a sword.  Upon pulling open the creaky door, you will find a ladder that goes down. It lands up in a tunnel that stretches further under th