MY PRINCE...AND I

I had no way of knowing that He was my prince…no burst of confetti at my feet, no conch shell clarions in the air , no cheeky bee buzzing past my ear saying- Watch out! It’s Him!
Life was still the same…the same old life refusing the plaintive calls of the garage mechanic for immediate servicing. Yawning, Life rubbed it’s eyes dramatically and announced- Do not bother me!....So, we were left alone...not bothered…we, Life and I...left alone to yawn and rub our eyes, dramatically…and in harmony.
Then the sudden Scritch! Scratch! at the window-pane…a traveller probably, halting for brief respite, a morsel of mouldy bread, a glass of water pushed in slight irritation through the window…profuse and comically-elaborate ‘thanks’…and we return once again to our yawning and rubbing of eyes, dramatically…and in harmony.
But oh!...This traveller wants no bread or water, and yet an outstretched palm stares back at me. I notice the soft milky pink of the palm, shockingly reassuring…an icy lump of confusion starts sliding painfully down my throat…The traveler wants no bread or water- whispered Life into my ears…words pregnant with caution, fear, apprehension….
‘What do you want?’-I ask…and He says, ‘Your heart.’….
My prince was born to me the day I handed Him my heart…I, quivering in ecstasy…He, with outstretched palm, receiving the poor patch-worked thing and cradling it in his arms….His arm around me, like the pebbled yellow beach girdling the heaving blue carpet of water… would make me dissolve into nothingness…blissfully oblivious to the world without. His dimples, two perfect holes drilled into his cheeks by the naughty fairies with their powerful drilling-machines, would smile at me...and I would wonder, what secrets are stored away in those dark dungeons?..And the dimples would whisper back at me ‘Love! Love!…and I would snuggle closer, wishing to petrify with the flourish of my magic wand, Life and its menacing alarm clock…
Now, when a single doleful tear slithering down his cheek wishes to be collected and boxed up in a case so that it may not go to waste, I crave for home…our blue cottage, eclipsed by the foliage of love from the malevolent piercing glance of the cemented world around…and our brown boat…
My prince…the one who never galloped into my life astride a milk-white stead with his shining armour on…the one who never made confetti burst at my feet, made no conch-shell clarions…nor employed a cheeky bee to whisper into my ear- Watch out! It’s Him!
Yet…I call Him my prince…for he has made me feel like a princess…..