a black and white tussle :

A split personality and his vicarious suffering
Sapphires and rubies leave him dithering
A lone diamond in his house full of amber
Mr black comes out of his chamber
He is that ultimate brother to a friend who is drunk
Just a trait amongst others he has
He also goes about collecting life’s junk

he collects trash cans
lids them ,to open it later
he is his own janitor
when he gets a signal
the same old revival
it all becomes surreal

if only Mr white kicks in hard
he is behind him ,maybe just a yard
but he doesn’t, his conviction has eroded
to strong is his internal enemy,
mr black’s gun is always loaded

metaphors turn to real life incidents
no such thing as genuine accidents
trashy is in, don’t search within
mr white has lost the fight
in a few years he wouldn't be livin

then someone tells him
all roads have a u turn ,
a thought he just can’t spurn
the road being long and his life on the wane
he decides on a posture that would eliminate his bane

martyr's bridge :

Well the bandra worli sealink bridge route has been inaugurated and who of all the people inaugurates the bridge? The president of a political party. Not the PM not the President . How obvious can these people get !!.

The controversy now seems to be about the name that would be given to this bridge. The congress wants ofcourse , the bridge to be named after rajiv Gandhi. That’s obvious again.

Can’t these people think a bit out of the box and be original?. After all this is the 21st century filled with terrorists and martyr’s. Why not honour all the indian people who died at the hands of terrorists post independence ?. Why not call this bridge as “martyr’s bridge”.

Inscribe the names of the scores of people who have died at the hands of terrorist. Wouldn’t this be a worthwhile thing to do , wouldn’t it build some sort of integration amongst we Indians. For, the dead people are from different cross sections of society. Right from an ex PM to a daily wager . The innocent common helpless citizens atleast would get a chance to show their collective finger to these terrorists.

short distance props

What’s with these long distance objects
Aah! a beautiful moon, a twinkling star,
a strange woman’s octuplets

What’s with these short distance props
Why do they always move my flip flops
Why does the bulb look so pale in the evening
can’t reach out, she seems to be shrinking

Snack on a green plants dried flowers
I could look at this bulb for 8 hours
And wonder at those willowy flowers
If this cramps my neck
I can look at my fucking shoes, so far down,
it’s just a speck

This line of thought could very well spin out of control
All’s not lost , there’s a substitute for dried flowers
my fluid rock and roll
Damn these hands, I see them reach for the familiar color
The moon and the bulb now have the same dirty pallor

With no fast forward button for such days
And a cocktail of thoughts behind my poker face
It’s just me, not unlike that man on the moon
My time being absolute and my space not
I need to get back to earth soon

hope

It was before, when man could throw his sadness into the river
He now finds the river dry , the december chill makes him shiver

The once river compounds his misery, is it her death?,
He turns back with more sadness in his every breath

It’s not sure when hope returned in him
It could be a green pasture he sights
It could be a soothing hym someone recites

God given gift to mankind, a mind
he walks in the direction of hope
Every step he takes the sadness slopes
His only quest now is to feel
That happiness he felt with her

morons in the government

Our PM says he is monitoring the rain situation on a daily basis!!! And our good for nothing agri. Minister is in London attending an ICC meet!!!!. Aaaaaahhh.

Rains ain’t in your hands, you f……. beaurocrat , it doesn’t arrive because you are monitoring it. monitor the fucking pathetic irrigation systems in our country. Do something about it on a war footing. You have the powers to do this , for once do something that’s useful to the 600million who live of the land .

a b'day poem :

For every mile that separates us
There’s one soul here, trying his best
To bridge this distance with words

With these unrestrained words
caution is lost in the wilderness
I see only you and me
in between is your tenderness

Your tears today might someday compete with mine
Be with me then too, my rose, I would then have my answer to
“in this life what did I find?”

So wipe those tears, here heavens have bestowed them enough
I pray that you always be on a life’s crest,
For tears remind me of life’s trough.

table manners of a CTD :

We look around and then some of us say ,look at me
I’m willing to be a crash test dummy
Burst my bubble, I am a masochist, I ain’t quality
Try me ,I know you ain’t looking for reliability

Think of me as someone you like to hate
Take me out , take me out on a fucking date
Use your forked tongue, leave the bloody fork on the table
I’m used to it, your bloody ways, our story ain’t a fable

I now see the blood sucking alien in you
How many have you snared , or is it only few
What’s that smile, is it your idea of fun
How many have you devoured on the run

realize, before it’s too fucking late
you are just an empty space filled with hate
distinguish the divide
don’t run and hide

finish your fucking dinner, I’l get you a knife
hold it in your hand and use it well,
tell me I can go to hell
I won’t feeling nothing. you are givin back my life.