I lost the key to my diary of laughs
And lost myself in the haze of finding it
But unlike Snow White I don’t have seven dwarfs
Neither is my plain old life a magical skit
But I have a dream, an old summer dream
That my baby would be the crop of the cream

And he was and always is
The brightest jewel, the supernova, the flying star
But sometimes I wish on it too much and it goes amiss
Turning into a black hole leaving me behind so far
Where none of my cries and screams are heard
And I couldn’t reach him, even when I flew like a bird

But darkness itself is darkness only when defined by light
And within him a spark as tiny as it is always remains
Rendering him as mine, albeit with a lot of fight
This fire starts slow, then builds, builds and sustains
Because at the end of the day I’m one of the normal girls
Who’s dreams can shatter but hope always swirls

 

Poetry by Simran Bhalla