A Story’s Tale.

A Story’s Tale.

 

A Story’s Tale.article-1-story's tale

Hey read me, I am a story.
I was made in minds,
Of strangers and travellers.

When I was young,
They made me black and white.
Then I was the ‘truth’.

As I grew, so did time!
Those who knew me died.
Now I know how time grew.

Since I was special,
I lived longer than most.
Still I have few scars.

My death mind you was unnatural.
For I was not taken by time.
Instead I died slowly.

My birthplace became my pyre,
The minds of men,mixed with-
colourful lies. Poisoned.

I was already a ghost,
When they read me aloud.
But that made me a demon.

I consumed and confused,
lives. I was the illusionist.
I was feared and worshipped.

You may have met me,
In a library or an old man’s tale.
Yet you knew me not.

They ask me, if it’s true?
What color of truth you want?
I am no more black and white.

But I will not corrupt you.
It’s not your fault after all.
That I am now no more.

A story should die with its masters.
Left to the mercy of minds,
It dies every second.

I was born when they met.
Now long after they are gone
I remain; etched in stone.

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VAIBHAV BHARADWAJ
I am a thinker.I hope to inspire people to turn their attention from the gross reality of world to the dimensions of the multicolored intellect.

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