Funds for the scantily clothed

On a bright Delhi morning,
As I walked out on the street,
I spotted these pretty damsels,
Each one of them a queen.

Their hair were straight,
Their legs, silky-smooth,
Eyes, light brown and blue,
Man, what a view.

They wore everything chic,
From the bosom to the hip,
Yet everyone’s eyes around them,
Were astray from the standard scheme.

So like a sage with grace
I decided to strike a cord,
Opening a trust to raise
Funds for these scantily clothed.

I too shall triumph

As the first light shows,
I, guilty of indulgence,
Move to plead mercy,
Be forgiven for all respite,
For once, show me some light.

For efforts, petty, I seek thy
Divine intervention to embrace me,
In time of joy, when I forgot you,
Save me from this dark, I’m contained in.

For I’ve believed in your muscle,
At all times I’ve breathed,
Show me some leniency,
Make me believe,
I’ll get more than my need.

The night before the first light

Stand with me, hold
My hand, as I stand here, deserted
For I’m alone, the fate
Of my tomorrow, on a coin, rests
While my heart, it beats
Out of control, no sync
With the clock, on the wall

Stand with me, behold
The sky turns white, from the dark
Blackness inside of me, it speaks
A million words of, turbulence
Unsure of what it’ll see.

Stand with me, alert
Of all that’s around me, alive
Like the sky that brings, the light
That shall guide me through, the dark
As the night before the first light, shall pass.

Burn

He lit a cigarette again,
That’s burnt his soul before,
Yet he won’t stop, he won’t seek a cure
For what he burns, he wanted to save,
But then he cannot take it to his grave

So burns on the cigarette,
And burns the spirit,
The body bearing the brunt of the mind,
For a strong will would call it a mistake,
An error he should have long undone.

So burns on the cigarette,
To please his soul,
Burning ignorantly, expecting a cure
For science has advanced, and he’s playing his stakes,
For someday he might have it all undone

So burns on the cigarette,
His fellows burn too,
So what if we are buried, at least we’d be in unison,
For alone if I die, I’d stay a wandering soul,
Breathing my last breath, choking to smoke

So burns on the cigarette,
Under every excuse,
Though each one knows well, there will be no cure,
When so much burns why should I be saved?
If I have to burn, why wait for the grave?

A lost dialogue

A short communiqué,
To start a quarrel,
Hard strikes to the face,
Blood, filling barrels

The wounded chap,
No thought, no reason,
He won’t quit,
Just fight, persist

The ugly outcome,
Bruised faces, broken ribs,
Yet no penance, a virtue, too dated,
For if an oblivious, questions why,
Conflicts, you know, happen for no reason.