Misled, we wandered like aimless winds
Over forlorn deserts:
Sometimes dry and dead as a bone,
But always in icy hot love.
I withered in a salt rain that fell tomorrow,
And you picked me up in the era after.
This salt desert, dearest, I've walked halfway through.
Now, the road turns sour and weary.
The sundial tilts backwards, nothing much to do.
The wrinkles come, old eyes hurt and are teary.
Finally, I know the worth of a day,
An hour, a minute, a chime of the clock.
Mine are turning empty, love, all is grey,
Would you really wait till all is, but black?
Like sand slipping away through the fingers,
I'm just fading more and more away.
Humbled by life's unavoidable force,
Slowly, I'm going like the green in May.
Dear, I'm confined by four walls, not your embrace,
I'd still trade my days off for your warm hug.
I falter and slip alone in this daze,
I fumble in these gutters that time has dug.
I found you tomorrow, as sure as rain,
While I will be looking for you yesterday.
Wrote this tomorrow in much pain,
While today, I'm still not going astray.
Love, come into my arms, it's almost sunset.
But it sure looks beautiful and crimson.
Let's kiss on the beach where we could have met,
Where blue whales fly, and constellations run.
Friday night, and good old 100 feet road is alight.
The vixen Bangalore is awake, and I'm caught.
This pub is alive, the sound is at it's height.
Song after song, rock 'n roll is giving all it's got.
Life is good.
Life is good on Indiranagar 100 feet road
Lovers kissing, friends laughing, poet getting inspired
Life buzzing, An artist lost in his sketchbook
Women clad in their best, leaving men dazed.
An Amusing sight that you just can't overlook.
Life is good.
Life is good on Indiranagar 100 feet road
Regulars are being swooned by the waiters
God knows if that's courtesy or the ka-ching ring
Next table, there are mighty woohoos and 'wow's.
And you know the beer buzz has been working.
Life is good.
Life is good on Indiranagar 100 feet road
I can see a happy group of friends right across
Can't hear, but a group trip to Goa is brewing.
Hangover tomorrow, in the cabin, their boss.
Shaking my head, sorry, but that's not happening.
Life is good.
Life is good on Indiranagar 100 feet road
Floyd and Hendrix on fire, lighting it on,
Some sing along, some just really don't care
Glasses klink, some are just glad to be born
Kids, now is not the time to play truth or dare.
Life is good.
Life is good on Indiranagar 100 feet road
Somebody who dressed down is being judged
By someone who only has money on him
A mug breaks on the floor, someone is sloshed
I wonder what got him filling up to the brim.
Life is good.
Life is good on Indiranagar 100 feet road
Someone is sulking in the farthest corner
May be she is remembering an old lost love
Another is just staring, may be a lost loner
But humans, we're all in this soup somehow.
Life is good.
Life is good on Indiranagar 100 feet road
But it's all good. We're living these pocket lives.
We live fullest here for hours on 100 feet road
Then we leave, to wake up and be robots in hives
Life is good on Indiranagar 100 feet road.
Life is good. Life is good.
Life is good on Indiranagar 100 feet road
Requiem to all the last leaves
​
Fallen pal, how clearly now I see you.
How that icicle fire burnt you throughout.
How you skinnned knuckles in this weird vile zoo.
All the while you fought god as you went out.
Sorry, Henry, all leaves can't be painted.
Some wither, it's not like they never tried.
This world, apart from yours, is resented,
They have no hope, no more places to hide.
A butterfly is out there, fluttering,
Its wings spread out like a piece of heaven,
It's wonderful how small a thing makes you sing,
And dance, for you're a piece of joy right then..
Grief, I wept over you, but now I'm done.
You've killed me thrice over, you thought I'm gone.
You failed, though, to see how hard I can fight,
You can't win me, I'd just swim through all night.
Drunk writing
​
In my late thirties, I write my best lines
When my half solitude with a beer mug
Gets me a whisker close to being snug
Than my worn out poor burnt-out brain that pines.
Sometimes the rhymes are forced, but I don't mind.
The beer shall take the blame and I can ease,
And let them very well go where they please.
There's no soul in these lines that you can find.
I now realise that I missed the sonnet.
But it came so late, and I'll let it be.
I guess my sharpness left a long time back.
To rhyme, I will just end with a 'bonnet'.
I should give up, writing is not for me.
This was an ode, but it ended in black.
Your lips blessed the first sweet rain on mine.
Though It was a desert rain in moonlight,
I drenched and drowned in it like the sea vine,
And I am still swimming there in pure light.
There's a love poem waiting to be written,
My chest, the paper, your lipstick, the ink.
There's a painting I'm yet to paint love-smitten,
Your lips, the canvas, into them, I'll sink.
You know, longing is a beautiful thing
Even though it hurts more than an eon's time,
It paints a picture of how much you're in love,
With this person with whom you perfectly rhyme.