Little Girl Reader

She sat all alone in the big room

dimly lit by only a sunlight stream,

pale golden light silently floating in

Now only a faint memory, half forgotten dream

 

She had never lifted her head,

never danced in the golden light

Hair messy, a curtain shielding her eyes

She had never looked beyond what was in sight

 

For the books she read there carried her far away

to strange new friends and enchanted worlds

Sweaty fingers of a seven year old girl

leaving behind corners of pages curled

 

She rode elephants, she flew amongst clouds,

she leaped and pranced, crouched and soared!

Leaving behind school and lessons, games and toys

No longer even in the big room, a new magic was being explored

 

 

Thoughts you put in my head

Hello blank white page. You scare me a little bit. So white and efficient and cold and blank. I always preferred clutter.

That’s always how my mind has felt. Cluttered. Images. Conversations. Music. Colours. Memories. Ideas. Worries. Over and over again. Constantly. Never stopping.

 It’s like you’re politely suppressing your impatience at me, blank white page. At the way I stare at the screen and chew my nails while my hair untidily frizzes out of the ugly bun I’ve pulled it into. It’s like you don’t have time for me. You see me for who I really am. You zoom in on the flaws and ignore the positives. My abilities are far too insignificant for you. You, who has been written on by unspeakably great writers. Writers who have reeled off magnificent tales one after the other, who have wreaked havoc with our emotions, who have woven breath taking storylines, who have created characters we’ve given our hearts to.

It seems like you’re scornfully wondering to yourself what business I have even attempting to write here. How could I be so woefully foolish, being fully aware of all my pathetic human incompetence. Do I really think I could ever be even half as good as the greats?

But patience is all I’d like to timidly request. My being is almost entirely composed of flaws. Not completely though. Every once in a while I can bring forth something I’m somewhat glad about.  Something that is heavily fragrant with the passion I have for it. Something that I want to tell the world about. Something that can bring a smile to a face, warmth to a heart. I know that for sure. I truly believe it. I have to.

So bear with me. While I anxiously question my not just my talent, but my worth as a human being in general, hear me out in silence. Wait for me. For this is what I would love to be able to do. To spin tales out of sheer nothing, to create dazzling romances and quiet strong bonds between characters that are wholly mine. To hold the world spellbound with my imagination and describe indescribable feelings that make us all human. To throw up a world filled with unimaginable magic.

It might take me a long while to get there, in fact I may not even get there ever. But there’s no space for doubt or practicality in dreams, and dream I shall. So while I take baby steps, and share little stories from my life with my paltry following, patience is all I ask for.  For I shall try my very best, and then some more.

And then, blank white page, maybe you won’t intimidate me anymore.

And returning to you will be like revisiting a special friend.

And for that day, I will happily wait.