Tides gently pass by

The last weekend just went by. Yesternight, once again, I saw the men carrying heavy sacks of food grain from the truck to the godown.

And you make me believe in fairytales.

Rapunzel. Cinderella. Sleeping Beauty. And the Beauty and the Beast. I still love the beast so much. The way he waited for Beauty to realize that he was her prince charming. She just had to see the man behind the face.

I want to be your prince charming, Koochie. Your knight in shining armor. I want to be your hero. Someone whom you put on a pedestal.

All men have always wanted to be the hero of at least one woman in their otherwise routine lives. Men strive to be heroes.

I have seen husbands going all the way. Fathers loving daughters more than their sons. Sons obeying their mothers while they rebel against their fathers.

Men want to be rescuers. Look at the number of people who’ll become firefighters, if they were paid well enough.

I have just over a hundred bucks left with me to tide the month by. But I am not bothered. It’s better to be a poor poet on the street than to be a rich man.

Tides gently pass by. The waves make all the noise.