Thursday, November 09, 2006
a wistful look back at the store,
of simple wood and bricks of red.
the creaking of the door so strong,
the warm whiff of the fireplace.
'twas a place big enough for one,
away from all land, humans and shores.
a warm cloister, a hideaway,
a sanctuary, was this little toy store.
there, lived an old, plain-looking hermit,
and all his objects of love, so very sweet.
he wasn't one to catch the eye,
with his disheveled skin and all, his time appeared nigh.
but through the coughing, and a build that got more frail,
burnt a flame of passion that seemed to never fail.
his eyes would twinkle with a youthful glow
when the magic fingers are in full flow.
goblins that would jump and yell,
and dolls who could comb their own hair.
and dragons that would breathe fire and scream hell,
and laughing, dancing teddy bears.
his latest toy was the magnificent castle,
opulence oozing from the thrones and cells and gates.
lifelike princes and pirates and beautiful court-ladies,
damn, it could even levitate.
all he had ever known and loved,
were these offspring from his wrinkled hands.
he would hold his creations to his breast,
and proclaim with joy not many understand.
and wipe the dust off his prized creations
unfailingly each day with utmost affection.
it was thought that romance would prevail,
that this little cave-hole could rack up the big sales.
but as the poor man's health began to fail,
along came the conglomerates upon his trail.
awashed with visits and phone calls and mails,
all trying to hang upon the old man's coattails.
on his deathbed he still laid sobbing,
the tears had dimmed his eyes so far.
none to fear! for no one is near,
in this exclusive hospital ward in qatar.
his final moments were spent in a sorrowful reminiscence,
as he hummed to the tune little pony made.
the tv went on in a forlorn monologue,
as the machines became softer.
as the castle that the hermit made got
it's 120 seconds on air,
the man with the magic toys felt
his guts laid bare.
