I am a storyteller,
A narrator of tales,
Weaved by life itself.

Come to me...
If you have a listening ear.
Come to me...
If your heart is liberal enough,
To lend me thine busy,
And equally precious moments,
So as to comfort my soul,
Heavy with worldly traverse.

I won't promise you of tales,
With endings perfect,
Neither I vow,
Of a fairytale affect.

Forgive me!
If I annoy you inbetween,
With my pinings,
From the lived hues,
Of the musings past,
Forgive me!
If I end up gagging,
Amidst the discourse mapping,
For I am no Antony,
From the Shakespeare's cast.

Come to me...
If you are a flowing river,
We will row a boat together.
Come to me...
If you are a cherisher,
Of life as it is,
Come to me...
We will hear life narrating itself,
Unfolding the mysteries it holds.
Come to me...
We will weave stories of inclusion,
Of love, Of kind expressions,
Of self-love, Of humane sentiments.
Come..., we will
Garnish a pallet of forgiveness,
Not only with green basil and thame
But also with the autumnal hues,
Both pale and yellow,
Both withered and wilted,
For life is a montage of seasons!
Of Springs, Of Summers,
Of Autumns, Of Winters!

-Mamta Dorbi
@theeternalmuse