i got us tickets!
a one-time show,
they say it's life-changing!
come with me!



one, two, three,
                               we hope you'll like what you see.
                                                                ­                               here it begins.



(pa-da-da-dip
                                              ­ du-du-dap
                                                       ­                               pa-da-da-di-da)

"you can be replaced in this world."
                                                  (the answer lies at the very bottom)




[grow up. grow up. grow up.]
                                                            ­                                [la lala lalala
                                                               grow up? what game is that?]


                       "if you come at four, i'll begin to be happy from three"



what took you so long?                                                            ­                                                 
               ­                                    i remember you. i'll wait for a forever.



(forever? what is that?
                               a term grown-ups use because they're too scared.  
why? are there monsters?
                                                       ­                           monsters are them.)




[your feelings wouldn't pay rent.]

                                                                       [have you written a letter?
                                                         oh, i wrote one! actually multiple!
                                                       ­                           i drew in them too!]




they put off dreaming
assuming the world lasts as long as their beliefs
forgetting it only exists for them as they exist,

and the moment they leave—
the forevers' end.



(forevers are supposed to end?
                                            no. they promise eternities. their eternities.
 grown-ups are surely, very very weird.)




(pa-da-da-dip
                                     ­            du-du-dap
                                                       ­                                 pa-da-da-di-da)


you see with the heart
what is invisible to the eye
then why do we all miss
all the signs and what signifies

sugar clusters in my mouth
dipped in chocolate,
hazelnuts covered in wafer
committing sweet little fouls

two whole hearts
one each, for each


                                        "but don’t they term themselves as halves,
                                                         ­                    looking to complete?"



eyes and memories and minds,
that we own, and through which we dream

                                               "aren’t they living in separate cosmos?
                                                         ­                             do they believe?"

and everytime i see you,
it’s like galaxies colliding.
close enough, and we could be stars.

                                                        ­            "can they even be together,
                                                       ­           despite being worlds apart?"


(pa-da-da-dip
                                       ­           du-du-dap
                                            ­                                          pa-da-da-di-da)


    ­                                     "oh! look! the galaxies kiss!
                                                           ­          birth of a star."




[time is money. love doesn't mend.]
                                                                ­      [time? money? love? mend?
                                                          why are the stars so quiet tonight?]




they were all like you and me—
small, incompetent,
the rulers of their own tiny worlds.

they often forgot what was spoken,
lived in daydreams,
saw colors in the dark,
put on the glimmer-in-nights,
had all the imaginary powers.



         "what happened to them?
                                                           ­                          "they grew up."



you shall tame me. i shall tame you.
then we shall need each other.
to me, you’ll be you.
to you, i’ll be me.

one of a kind,
we’ll both dream.



                                                       ­                    where i live, they bloom.
                                                   i’ve seen them, when the moon shone.
                                                          ­     one dark night, they glittered—
                                                      ­                                     tiny little lights,
                                                         like flicker of hope across the skies.


                                                        ­                           my own, pick yours.
                                                          ­                 let’s watch them, tonight,
                                       until the sun sets and the moon shines bright.


(pa-da-da-dip
                                        ­          du-du-dap—)
                                          ­                                                                 ­  (...)




[grief needs to be let go.
material is what you should aim for.]
                                                           ­        [what do you use clocks for?
                                                                ­     do you not chase butterflies
                                                     ­                    and wait for snack time?]






(you have to grow up.
imagination wouldn’t get you to earn your place in the world.)

                                                        ­                        (but i have my star—
                                                           there’s place for me in its world.)

(quit the act. master deception.
they’ll be after you the moment you step out of this dimension.)




but—
i’ve dreamt about it all along.
i’ll leave one night, find my light.
walk over the clouds, climb the rainbows.
from there i’ll walk along the skyline as the sun goes,
and cover myself with the navy, to sleep.
eat alongside what the neons pick for me.
                                                             ­                          i have to leave!


                                                       (chain them up. lock them down.
                                                           ­                   they've grown wings.
                                                          ­ they need to be shown around.)


they corrupted the fairytales,
called for the monsters of the night.
there’s a man out there who walks,
claiming he’ll steal the sun’s bright.

he walks methodically,
speaks of the stars,
says he owns them periodically.
for him, childhood is meant to be skipped.

but it is sacred—
and long since buried.


(pa-da-da-dip—)
                                                       (...)  
                                                       ­                                                     (...)  
  ­                                          





[dreams are for the night.
dreams are for the weak.]
                                                          ­  [when did you forget to look up?
                                              why do you not wish on a shooting star?
                                                           ­                  what do you even see?]






"what are they looking for?"
                                                          ­                        they don’t know.

"then what are they aiming for?"
                                                          ­                         they don’t know.

"how do they find nothing after so many ages of searching?"

                                                   ­                                they don’t know.


they don’t know what they look for.
treasure lies the closest—
they travel distances only to use up the excuses,
drop what needs to be chosen,
they admit so, selfishly.

"you’ve broken the rule.
you weren’t to dream.
so now break open your ribs,
tear through your heart,
and bleed in metaphors."

                                                    but they’ve been bleeding since—



(...)
                                                   (...)  
                                                       ­                                                     (...)  


­[smile for the picture that will decide
how you look at your funeral.
seem happy.]
                                                         ­                                       [say cheese!
                                                                ­can i do a heart on my cheek?]





they’ve killed what burnt so bright,
put torches and lamps into use.
sunkissed, they forgot the hue.
i feel for them—
they’re so unlike you.

there’s a carnival
that lies for the ones with closed eyes.
with those tamed and otherwise.
oh, did you know it meant to establish ties?


there’s nature of the terrible ones,
who stand, crowding us around,
dressed in varying uniforms.
they claim they’re the preachers of adulthood—
and they’re all we need to know about.

but what lies across and beyond?
have you looked at the world
with the illusion-tinted glasses—
not the kind that makes it all unnatural.
do you know of the fairies and myths
no longer spoken about?



(...)
                                                (...)  
                                                       ­                             (pa-da-da-di-da)  


the fennec fox,
have you had yours?
i’ve been searching for mine—
but it seems like it got lost.

                                                          ­                                 they stole it.

oh, but, of course they did.


[promises are for the weak.
trust no one.]
                                                           ­                    [i'll keep your secrets,
                                                                ­                         pinky promise.]




quotes, tunes, games—
we’re losing the originals.
and how we came to await.
every phrase of theirs twisted,
echoes of the things we once knew.
the childlike wonder,
you’re all they summarized to.

oh but where am i?
what of this stage?


balloons at the head of tombstones,
carved in ink: “what once existed, long gone.”

it hasn’t been that long.
where do i find myself?

there’s a swing,
that creaks over a coffin nailed shut.
                                                                but why do they nail them?

so the spirits don’t awake themselves and come out to touch,
and give you the insights they’ve found once they’ve crossed.
for it is only with numb hearts,
they realize what it felt like for it to beat and hurt, before they got lost.


a merry-go-round—
doesn’t seem so merry?
there’s no one who stands atop.

but i see shadows
who wouldn’t like to carry
the weight of this world much longer.

the merry-go-round has handles
with words etched:
logic. productivity. responsibility.

ordering you to be “merry.”



[listen to the music,
do you like what plays?
have you heard the anthems of the successful?
the kind you'd like to become one day.]
                                                           ­      [let me turn on my music box.  
                                                                ­                                            listen.
                                           it hums the tune from my favourite movie.
                                                          ­                                 the little prince.
                                                                ­                                 do you like?
                                                         this isn's like your monster theme!]





(i’d like to step on the swing, please.)

                                                      ­                 (gasp—how dare you!)

(can you push on the back,
                help me go up high?)

                                                        ­            (do you not understand?)

(oh, and if you would—
         could someone buy me a candy cane
                 and call up my rose?)

                                                        ­                              (multiple roses—
                                                          ­                      which one’s yours?)

(mine’s unique.
   the prettiest of them all.)

                                                         ­                        (they’re all pretty.)

  (oh, that is what you miss.
         find your own rose,
              it’ll be all you would want to kiss.)
                                    
                                                                ­                                          (...)

  (again, could you get me a candy cane?)

                                                        ­                                                (but—
                                               we do not eat or touch what’s colorful.)

(i assume that is why you’ve greyed.
   it doesn’t infect,
        as you expect it would.)

                                                       ­                                  (it could affect
                          with our notions and great matters of consequence.)

(you talk like grown-ups,
very weird—yet subordinates.)

                                                ­                                           (to what?)

(to those who have lost themselves.)

                                                  ­                                                     (...)

(can you draw me a star?)

                                                        ­                                      laughter.

(why do you laugh?
do you not know how to draw?)

                                                        ­                     (what even is a star?)

(it saddens me to see
your faces so ashen.
how did you live so long
without ever being starkissed
with the death of those passions?)

                                                    ­                           (children like you—
                                                       they look up at us with devotion.)
  
(they’re quick to skip on trends.
they’ll regret these times and all these motions.)

                                                     ­             (but nothing wrong to us,
                                                     we gain followers and like minds.)

(i’ll slip some potion to them,
don’t you worry.
if they read,
they’ll see through what they need, little cherries.)

(hmm, little star,
how i wonder what you are.)



                                                       ­ (what do you hum, little one?)

(i’m not so little.
also it is a rhyme one should become.)

                                                      ­                            (funeral chants,
                                                         ­                  we remember them.)

(how melancholy you’ve become.
the corporate slogans,
the brainwashed outcomes.)

(love if you must—why hide?
speak if you trust—why disguise?)

(the treasure that lies right in front,
close to you, within yourself,
with your rose and all you’ve tamed—
it’ll be long gone, stolen.)

(do not let it go.
the regrets will have you rotten.)

(put aside the screens.
close your eyes.
i’ll give you a dream.
it’ll change how you look at life.)

(a kiss.)

                                                        ­                           (what is the kiss?)

(a kiss.
kiss of truth.
of chance and of hope
and of everything new.)



(...)
                                                ­ du-du-dap
                                                       ­                                  pa-da-da-di-da)


("do not surrender.")

                                                  ­                                             grow up!

("they’ll ask you to leave.")

                                                          settle down, sign those papers!


impeccable.
resound.



(oh, did you find your rose?)

                                                        ­                       (it had thorns.)

(if the rose’s yours,
             so are the thorns.)

                                                      ­               (you speak so mature,
                                                         ­                   but you’re only a child.)

(you’re grown up,
         yet you don’t know
           the basics of an adult.)

soft.
sweet.
innocent.

(shh,
          come closer...
                            a bit more...
                                         a bit more...
                                                                ­            grown-ups are weird.)


(come with me, hold my hand.
        let us cut the cake.
           could you light up the candle’s flame?)

                                                       ­            (but what do we celebrate?)

(you.
       let us celebrate you.
                     you’d join me in dreaming, wouldn’t you?)






(the answer)
"but to me you’re more unique,
                                                         than unique could ever be.")

(pa-da-da-dip
                                          ­      du-du-dap
                                                 ­                                      pa-da-da-di-da)