Tuesday, November 1, 2011

Panic grips the heart,
Mind is full of fear,
The writing's on the wall that the end is near,
The writing's on the wall that the end is near.

Tuesday, October 11, 2011

More limericks

There was a miser from indore,
Who cribbed that his life was bore;
He lived in with his cooks,
And swore by his books,
And reminisced his glorious days of yore.

From hyderabad a dude was he,
As American an Indian could be;
He hated dal-rice,
And ate burger with fries,
And hopped off to San Fran with glee.

There was a fine lady from Mang,
Who nodded her head as she sang,
She ate pizza with cheese,
And shopped with great ease,
And hung out with her cousins in Bang.

From Kalyan a mallu was he,
As pervert as pervert could be;
He boozed with his folks,
And cracked gay jokes,
And never went home before three.

Friday, September 2, 2011

verbs in the first person singular

(composed a few weeks ago)

i write, I read . . .
i sing, I listen . . .
i dance, I watch . . .
i joke, I laugh . . .
i cook, I eat . . .
i earn, I spend . . .
i achieve, I praise . . .
i cry, I console . . .
i die, I condole.

where are "you"?

Thursday, July 21, 2011

Broken strings

As i silently cry
till my eyes go dry,

As i feel my energy drain
and my heart fill with pain,

As i count a million sheep
and yet not fall asleep,

As my veins bleed
and final lines i read,

And as my end nears
Your laughter deafens my ears.

Sunday, June 19, 2011

yet untread

you have your path, n i have mine . . .
the time now comes, to draw the line . . .
we'll part our ways, n we'll both be fine . . .
and when our paths cross next, we'll meet n dine . . .

Thursday, May 19, 2011

the Killer and the Guitarist

She stabbed my heart cold,
She robbed me of my breath,
but my Killer's so beautiful...
i died a painless death.

She strummed the strings of my heart,
and hummed the song of love,
and as to Her tunes i swayed...
realization dawned... i was dead.

...