Macbeth danced to the beats of a fairytale when Lady Macbeth whispered what he always wanted to hear- he always wanted to win. Pink, yellow and red Roses, walk in the moonlit streets, his promising eyes, her melting heart, his breath filling her with warmth in the cold winter nights, the mindless chatter in the parking lots, the togetherness, the concern, the "sweet nothings"...all weaved a thousand dreams....n "nothing else mattered".
Then came the prediction of the witches...Macbeth has to win the battle of life. And the moon refused to light the streets, the roses lost its colour and sweetness, the chatters were heard no more, the dreams were all blurred. The Lady now walks alone..shivering in the cold...craving for Macbeth's arms which now embraces the crown. She wonders if predictions were only excuses as they were already known long before...Macbeth chose his own path...he is a born winner after all.
'Fairytale is a tale told by an idiot dreamer ..full of fake promises signifying "nothing".'
stall, or strolling down the lonely city streets, sharing our moments of silence amidst all chaos, or just looking into each other’s eyes across the table...I find us everywhere...
