Toys... not just playthings!

They used to talk to me with muted lips
They used to dance on my naive beats
They used to be my soft support when I fell
They played in my lap like babies in a shell
When I myself was the little girl
Who talked to mum with unclear words!

And today when I stand alone in that room
They lay on my bed
As if playing with the dust...
But the sand to me is their lust!

Their hands and legs are still in place...
Covered under the lustily dirty face...
But their cottony heart inside I know
Has waited with utmost hope
Of seeing me - their little mommy back home!

Yes I know they have waited all this while
And today when I am back home
They have greeted me
With that same big smile
Yes... they have talked to me
Yes ... they have played with me
Because their lifeless heart is still that lively
That beats for me in my imaginary world
They ... my toys ... my all time fantasies!

Wishlists

Wishlists ... why do people make them? 
The idea of wishlists has always fascinated me.
Wish-list: a list of all those wishes that hold a potential to make you happy, a list which when made brings out the innocent and child like honesty to the fore and somewhat ends up with a blushy pink line on your face.
For some, a wishlist is a piece of paper, having mugged up all the strong goals and aspirations of a person's life kept in a remote corner of a room saved from all the eyes around.
But for some it is a list of innocent desires that are waiting to be read by friends, family or someone who can pamper them!
The little child sitting deep in the heart always wishes to hide the scroll of your aspirations on the most obvious place... under the pillow. On the top of one's skin is an imposting desire of the list lying at its place unattended and unseen. But under that very cover is a bunch of butterflies running up and down waiting for the paper to magically vanish away (secretly read by someone! )