good-ol-love-song part 1

I just giggle

Can’t share

Can’t talk

Can’t do much

Just think

And wonder

Only if, something was possible

A new lesson learnt

Old flames die hard

After an era in self imposed exile

That Ice age in grimy cave

Bollywood music sounds good again

And I think about “Ms. Pushpa”

Last year, last bench in college

Complications don’t kill love

Good Daughter in laws

Don’t read playboys

I wonder if this a new beginning

Or am I just being crazy

“Love-Guru” sounds irritating

Half them callers are idiots

Fraandhips, pyaar-vyaar

But the station plays good songs

La la….oh …aha

All I do is wonder…

It’s like being in love again…..

Only with the same mortal…

No wait

That’s not true…

I can’t be that fool again

Remember the last time

I promised

I will do better this time

I don’t write no more

No poems or love songs

Sometime,

May be nursery rhymes

…..TO BE CONTINUED

Frog Tales

Frogs on my roof
Make too much noise
They croak constantly and are never quiet
Anti feminist theories down their throats
Makes all their songs coarse

These frogs on my roof
Do not believe in monsoon
For them clouds never disappear
The world is a gigantic pot of beer

Google tells me
“Centuries have passed by
Many a Single mothers have tried
They are stuck upside down
Legend has it, they will never drown”

In their polished boots and red ties
Green goblins from sin city
Suave, grubby and witty
With endless fables to tell
Visit the frogs,
On their way to hell

Last winter, when they stopped by
They gifted silly frogs
A laptop each

Stuck upside down,
They made music
On their mighty machines
And sold them on internet
To insane goblin families

Bloggers, I was as amazed as you are
Goblin money, greener than a dollar
They started paying me rent
And asked me to put carpet on the roof

Once they even wrote a Rock song
Titled “Mr. Internet, slow sucker…..Mother FU#$@%”
In loop they had it played
Until I ordered an upgrade

Goblin money does good exchange
There is no recession in their Land
That red head (teller) is always eager to touch it
Before she puts them in her machine
She likes to have a quick whiff off them

“Nice shirt” she tells me
While her machine counts my money
I thank her with a smile
She slides towards me seductively and whispers
“I hear them frogs are working on a big budget goblin movie soundtrack”
She winks at me
“Do you get passes for the premier?”

Chicks dig Goblin Movies
More than they desire big men
Frogs are making me popular
But their music still drives me nuts

I increased their rent
And quit my job
They are my tenants and I am their manager
I answer their fan mail and get them coffee
They are busier than ever
I hate their music
But I hated my job too

Come winter
Goblins will visit again
Silly frogs want a concert in their honor
Cheerleaders will dance
Fireworks will be displayed
Expensive wine
And finest cuisines served
I am also getting my walls
Colored in green
Frogs have become very irrational
I believe it’s the work pressure
They tell me “for confidential reasons”
They want cheerleaders
To shave their heads

Many crazy demands
And even crazier songs
Their movie soundtrack is an international success

Revising: Late evenings and smudgy rooms

Do people know
They write histories
When they pick up their pen
Late evenings and smudgy rooms
And uncomfortable postures
One pain and an era to un-love

The wait for “The End”
A hall full of applause
Fame comes handy, godfathers and
Their bitches are loving it

Where do I sell
Myself, my story
My pen and buy my name
In the history…..
Late evenings and smudgy rooms
Seven year old paper
Becomes more dull
When I write with a stolen pen

I wake up at the sunset
And sunrise takes me to bed
How much I sleep is not important,
Or let’s leave that for another poem

Living on the other side of the world
Dramatic but just another impact
Of the chips getting smaller

Revising: Blues

My tale will never end
I will write more
For you
Today you are gone
But I still walk to your house
And romance with your furniture
I try to smell you on your phone
And sit on your chair

It’s the nearness to your belongings
That is my poem for you
That makes me sad
Yet content
Because I can still touch you

I wonder sometimes
If you can sense me?
When I leave
I wonder sometimes
If these small things make a difference to you

Two poems

-Bullets in my brain-

Bullets in my brain
Oscillate...
A dead dog
Colors the pale highway
And sings

Choked drains
Desire earthquakes
Fireflies twinkling
In gloomy and profound valleys
Want longer nights

A rose wants
To taste blood, the other red
Calendars will never
Ever show dates again

-The unplugged-

The unplugged and the untouched
The inseminated bitch
And the castrated dog
Will party today

A few strangers in the bucket
From lands unknown, some even unheard
Talking jargon dreams
Will rock today

Victim of time

How it passes

And what it does

To people

Once kids

Then boys and girls

Then men and women

The core

And the shell,

Question?

And silently answer, repel

Run and cry

Vision and then the eyes

It is named time

A futile power

A living dead

And a deceitful truth

They say

No point in holding on to it

Repeat and memorize

Daily once, twice, thrice

But Oh! The beauty

That passed by

Still blinks in my wet eyes

People named friends

Those days and trends

That garden and those benches

Still….. still….

A few certificates

Remind me of my victory

And their defeat

Prize money is all spent

That time is dead

Not even a year old

In this new world

Everybody inquires

Of my past life

And secretly laugh

When I turn my eyes

These photographs

Are deep

An ocean of time

Like two Samosa’s

Dipped in coconut chutney

Or a bottle of soft drink

That passed till last sip

See them

A lot more

Is beneath them

A tranquil layer of vodka,

Lime, ice and a pinch of salt,

The froth of beer,

Aroma of the coffee,

In million card houses.

Sound of music,

Debates on feminism,

Chains of smoke,

Libraries and their ambiance

Hugs and kisses,

Diary entries and dope,

Rushing to the college

To show what you wrote.

A car accident,

When we were broke.

Losing control, after 8 P.M

Sleeping in the girls’ room.

Rain in the desert,

Full moon in the bathtub,

The kurta with the shloks

The teachers who became friends,

That bonfire and the holy smoke

Ashes and dew drops

Think about them

So….. many

So many moments

Make these photographs

Always remember

It’s just me

Another victim of time

Book-worm Tag

I've been tagged!!!

Thank you, Gypsy. I'm supposed to

Pick up the nearest book.
Open page 123.
Find the fifth sentence.
Post the next three sentences.
Tag five people, and acknowledge the person who tagged you.


Now I guess there is no way that I can stop this. This will bring out the truth about the kind of books I read. gosh...

OK....I am already embarrassed..... I know it sucks but the nearest book is "All about Six Sigma" by Warren Brussee

And this is what it says:


For less than a given outcome, like less than 3 heads out of 8 coin tosses, use the cumulative function True with the success at 1 less than the given value (3-1=2):
Success = 2
Trials = 8
p = 0.5
Cumulative : true The result is P = 0.1445

wtf....really.....Now that I have shared with you something that really doesn't mean anything....I tag:

Tairebabs
Emaan and/or Emaan' Mom
Anindita
Quarterpast7
Ranjana

I am pretty sure that they will have better books.......
Signing out,
Peace