A tale thus narrated

A story needs to be told, no matter how short of words one gets
& that at times when ink and paper do no justice, one should let it drizzle over the tin roof, like an incomplete symphony,  flow along the dozen streams thus created , and to change its form naturally in the course.

It must be set afloat at times on a paper boat, with fragments of innocence, and a shroud of the dainty aromas from kitchen.

If you can't pen it anymore, you should release it to the sky with the merry notes of a carefree whistle & let it find its way through the clouds, only to be hummed again.

paste it on to the mirror with a sweet-lipglossy kiss, or lick it off the sides like bright candyfloss.

let it go , or make it yours, snuggle up to it while you sleep.
blow it off your books , smell it on the pages,
and maybe when you need to,
hide beneath it to shut off the world.

let it trickle down your forehead,
and pulse through your neck.
let it settle to the bottom, to the distant hum of a train passing on its tracks.
let it ransack your quarters with the sultry jasmine.

at times a tale needs you to tell itself,
with all your whims and fancies.
your short hushed breaths, the crow's feet by your eyes,
and your silence..