The frog and the golden ball
The murky lake and the crying princess
The memory lane and the giant marble halls
The maid and her lost golden ring
The prince drinking the soup
Never to be found again, these things.
Never to be rediscovered like a new leaf after the rain

Imprinted like dye coming off
Stained the white sheets of my memories
Not shaken off
But left out too long that they yellowed
With age
Places that I still see
But only like a cheap imitation
Finding out Disney land was a fraud
Noticing how happy endings were shallow
Seeing flat colours in cartoons
Not the places that I long for
With that lush forest with strange shadows hanging
Like chandeliers of some gloriously macabre palace
Always full of danger, full of opportunities
Bursting with life, random with chances
Chancing upon a witch behind a big tree

The great white marble halls of gold, silver, glass and mirrors.
Dazzling candle lights like the very dwelling of starlight.
Little cottages with apple trees and birds
Puffing out white steamy smoke only the wildest plants could see
Somewhere deep inside the jungle
Beyond the logical mind or the sympathetic heart
Lodged too far for those who only see with eyes
Only the innocent and the brave can truly visit.

And feminists say that such tales are forms of oppression for little girls
I wish they could see past the superficial and if they can step into that
Sacred place, where little children understand the universe
Where tears can still melt frozen hearts
And magic is still real
Then perhaps they can see that the emperor is naked
And the mechanical nightingale won’t bring joy or wisdom
And that life holds precious gifts
Like rare stories hidden in treasure troves
Waiting to be freed
Like those wild swans taking off into some summer sky
In that place that does not exist.