All in a line.
Contiguous hands,
trembling.
Shy as fuck,
the moon is obscure.
A conversation,
a song, and some moves.
Some days are lived,
others observed,
the rest,
are evanescent.
Failed attempts, tears shed,
and the popcorn crushing heard on the head.
Living and observing,
a stage is reached.
Where special things happen to me.
Meanwhile,
Shy as fuck,
the moon is obscure.
Tuesday, January 3, 2012
Tuesday, November 8, 2011
Child Abuse
Where is the little boy? He came up to me.
He must be hiding. Running away from what he fears.
Never did we decide to hold him so tight.
Never did the child know he could put up a fight.
The agony cause by a prick.
The dolor in his eyes.
Set him right, he said.
When he will speak, he will forget.
The Pensieve grows shallow with age,
with time, a handful of memories remain.
They evince happiness and pride,
subtle anguish and vain.
But he knew the child would grow up to love and hate,
just like the others, he would run.
From fear and from villains.
From darkness and from rain.
But droplets of water will make him see,
someday, a past he lived to see.
A past with an older man.
A past that he thought would set him free.
But life's a bitch, it keeps you uptight.
Full of yourself, yet lacking belief.
In cows and bells, some find relief.
Others find humour, go overboard.
Crack others up, and continue to run.
He spoke to us on a rainy day,
with the droplets of rain on his specs.
Devoid of regret, we greeted him,
he smiled, and hugged us, the cocky bastard.
Said he erased a lot of what he knew,
rewrote his past, marshmallows ,angels and little houses with trees that he drew.
He pecked his wife goodnight,
tucked in his son,
and googled Sodomy.
He must be hiding. Running away from what he fears.
Never did we decide to hold him so tight.
Never did the child know he could put up a fight.
The agony cause by a prick.
The dolor in his eyes.
Set him right, he said.
When he will speak, he will forget.
The Pensieve grows shallow with age,
with time, a handful of memories remain.
They evince happiness and pride,
subtle anguish and vain.
But he knew the child would grow up to love and hate,
just like the others, he would run.
From fear and from villains.
From darkness and from rain.
But droplets of water will make him see,
someday, a past he lived to see.
A past with an older man.
A past that he thought would set him free.
But life's a bitch, it keeps you uptight.
Full of yourself, yet lacking belief.
In cows and bells, some find relief.
Others find humour, go overboard.
Crack others up, and continue to run.
He spoke to us on a rainy day,
with the droplets of rain on his specs.
Devoid of regret, we greeted him,
he smiled, and hugged us, the cocky bastard.
Said he erased a lot of what he knew,
rewrote his past, marshmallows ,angels and little houses with trees that he drew.
He pecked his wife goodnight,
tucked in his son,
and googled Sodomy.
Monday, October 31, 2011
Pataka
A flurry of lights,
A bowl of sweets.
A light in the sky,
The old man looks at.
The moment or two it lives,
and dies in haste.
He stared full of envy,
and looks down at his veins.
A short life,
full of purpose,
is something he would wish for.
A grand child with a pataka,
He has for himself.
He stares with envy,
and looks down at a vein.
The flurry of lights,
a box of sweets,
and a lifetime of pain.
A bowl of sweets.
A light in the sky,
The old man looks at.
The moment or two it lives,
and dies in haste.
He stared full of envy,
and looks down at his veins.
A short life,
full of purpose,
is something he would wish for.
A grand child with a pataka,
He has for himself.
He stares with envy,
and looks down at a vein.
The flurry of lights,
a box of sweets,
and a lifetime of pain.
Tuesday, September 27, 2011
Never Have I Ever
Never have I ever,
stopped.
Never have I ever,
looked.
Never have I ever,
thought.
I walk past them everyday,
hard up and frail.
My affluent ass is at ease.
The comfort of a cushion,
The warmth of a quilt.
Sitting silently,
eating.
Never have I ever,
worked.
Never have i ever,
starved.
Never have I ever,
thought.
I smile at them everyday,
So hard up and frail,
My affluent ass is at ease.
stopped.
Never have I ever,
looked.
Never have I ever,
thought.
I walk past them everyday,
hard up and frail.
My affluent ass is at ease.
The comfort of a cushion,
The warmth of a quilt.
Sitting silently,
eating.
Never have I ever,
worked.
Never have i ever,
starved.
Never have I ever,
thought.
I smile at them everyday,
So hard up and frail,
My affluent ass is at ease.
Sunday, September 25, 2011
Bobby Deol
I write, i stop, i smoke.
Of Love and Bobby deol.
Its funny how it started,
an accident , fate if you may.
But there and then,
He brushed his hair,
and i fell into my pocket.
Its different,
a game of tennis,
followed by a phone call,
of a complete stranger,
who wants to know,
what you know,
of Love and Bobby Deol.
I would have asked at first,
about delinquency, about you,
about love,and yes, about him too.
So brush your hair,
and call me up,
and talk to me,
About Love and Bobby Deol.
Of Love and Bobby deol.
Its funny how it started,
an accident , fate if you may.
But there and then,
He brushed his hair,
and i fell into my pocket.
Its different,
a game of tennis,
followed by a phone call,
of a complete stranger,
who wants to know,
what you know,
of Love and Bobby Deol.
I would have asked at first,
about delinquency, about you,
about love,and yes, about him too.
So brush your hair,
and call me up,
and talk to me,
About Love and Bobby Deol.
Saturday, September 17, 2011
Chai
Seated on a folding chair,
Sipping chai.
The classicist adjusts his crotch,
Takes his chashma off,
and finshes the Sunday crossword.
Its time to do a task,
Something planned.
Something that doesnt deserve a second thought,
let alone meticulous preparation.
So its taken on,
Deft and Rigid as ever,
He finishes it.
Gets back to his chai,
Seated on a folding chair.
Flimsy as ever, the chair screeches as he settles down.
Another sip of the chai,
A new task .
Sipping chai.
The classicist adjusts his crotch,
Takes his chashma off,
and finshes the Sunday crossword.
Its time to do a task,
Something planned.
Something that doesnt deserve a second thought,
let alone meticulous preparation.
So its taken on,
Deft and Rigid as ever,
He finishes it.
Gets back to his chai,
Seated on a folding chair.
Flimsy as ever, the chair screeches as he settles down.
Another sip of the chai,
A new task .
Monday, August 1, 2011
Kutte Ki maut
Its a dogs life they say,
rambling away to glory.
not bothered by the rising dust,
and the market .
On the slope i sat and thought,
if my life as it was,
would be to renounce my carriage.
To slide down and stare up,
while my ass hurt and i ripped my jeans.
Where would we all be,
if it wasn't for the slide.
The slide i loved as a child.
That grew enormous and so did i.
The dog stared at me from the top,
looking rather wistful.
Thats when it struck me,
that a truck will set that dog free.
For he didnt slide down with me.
He stood his ground and remained insolent.
That truck did need to teach him that lesson.
Its a dogs life they say,
rambling away to glory.
not bothered by the rising dust,
and the market .
rambling away to glory.
not bothered by the rising dust,
and the market .
On the slope i sat and thought,
if my life as it was,
would be to renounce my carriage.
To slide down and stare up,
while my ass hurt and i ripped my jeans.
Where would we all be,
if it wasn't for the slide.
The slide i loved as a child.
That grew enormous and so did i.
The dog stared at me from the top,
looking rather wistful.
Thats when it struck me,
that a truck will set that dog free.
For he didnt slide down with me.
He stood his ground and remained insolent.
That truck did need to teach him that lesson.
Its a dogs life they say,
rambling away to glory.
not bothered by the rising dust,
and the market .
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