My dear mummy

I found myself often asking my friends and acquaintances:
"I guess you dont want to go back to college. You will miss your mom na?"

This poem will be the first Rhythmspeak of the blog, dedicated to all my fellow hostellers leaving home for their college lives. How many of them would've thought deeply about their lives, about their parents and how they are growing old? This poem (whose first para was a status update on FB exactly 2 months before this poem's release date) will definitely open some thoughts.


Twas worth all the fuss you made
after all the exams I wrote,


whatever cometh the result,
you will still love me
and I'm coming home to you.
Now I get down to watch your face

One wrong turn

What happens when two friends take a turn in the opposite direction of the road to their destination?

This article is dedicated to my best, ever smart buddy who will remain unnamed throughout this article. He told me that being open to change and ideas would help anyone in the long run. Perhaps that may be why this post will be my casual, slightly lame and even horrible. But I’ve decided to bare it all when our trip became filled with bizarre and funny-for-us-both events that illuminated the otherwise cloudy skies of Chennai on Monday, July 8th. I solemnly swear that the following are the truth, the sole truth and nothing but the truth!

My best friend (let’s name him S) and I lunched at a restaurant famous for lavish veggie buffets. We spent the time “lame out-talking” each other. There was one problem though. 

Whenever he or I reached the punch line of our jokes, the waiter would come and fill the glass of water we barely finished. 

The Dilemma

Two reasons for the above title.

1. Wasted a lot of time. And came crashing to earth in many aspects.
2. Never able to rhyme a single poem till now.
I guess there is a beginning for everything. In my case, this poem!



All day long, I stayed put and lazy
pondering my future, all bleak and hazy.
"Time will soon run", so said my dad.
Despite the fun, Oh, now I feel bad.

Taken from google images

Hands on my face, "Why was I like this?"
Fighting my case thinking

A philosopher's warning

This was what I had been telling people for years. Nobody listened. It was frustrating. How long will people keep enjoying the materialistic? Will they remain in the dark forever, till the world crumbles and sweep their bodies along? It was a sudden rise in temper. The frustration that the truth was ignored. I ran towards my table, fumbled with my pen as it moved on its own accord. It was no longer connected to my exasperated limbs, but to my determined mind. Which is why you are reading this.....


Yield not, to the fierce beauty
and charms of the queens of Illusion.
Mind not, the epidemics
that strike
the future, yours and others alike.
Heed not, the poisons that travel
ears to ears, mouths to mouths.
Anger not, the

Another walk in the city – I

Its not easy maintaining a blog. Especially when ideas simply do not strike you as to what to write about. Thinking about it, I told myself, "Enough of deep stuff for a while." This one is light and breezy which surely needs no additional explanation.

 

“Ma, not again”, I shouted, horrified. 

It was only yesterday that I had purchased 4 packets of milk for her.

“Most of the milk is going to your stomach only”, was her constant defence.

Sighing, I got dressed for the umpteenth time this vacation. Seldom was I left alone to the privacy of my room. Some errand would come up or should I say, my sweet mother would cook them up and within 2 hours

The Indian Marriage

When was the last time since you had gone for somebody's wedding? Me? It was a year and a half ago. This poem explains about a typical South Indian middle-class family's visit to their friend's marriage. It is written primarily from the view of a 6 month old infant who is dazed by this "big" journey away from his cosy cot. The idea was to make the readers feel the situation's environment from a different perspective. Here it goes.

The wailing child

cooed over by his sensible sibling,

both sandwiched between

their pompous mother and her unfocussed husband

(on the tenterhooks of his boss' call)

all crammed in a rickshaw

which comes to a screeching

Lost in the crossfire

This poem, which I created 2 years ago, was done with a sore heart and a suffered mind. Patience tests a man so hard, that he loses his sense of judgement. I felt I couldn't wait any longer for justice.Justice of a personal kind. Most of my friends would've already seen this poem on Facebook in my Notes. But what they do not know is that this will be the epilogue to the romantic-erotic poem on which i will embark soon.....in 4 installments! This is an epilogue from the point of view of first person, full of deep meaning and intensity. But then again, YOU are the judges!



Rendering sorries were of no avail
as I bounded onward in the journey of life.
So deep were the regrets
that the wound never completely healed.
Sadness replete with shame,