Khushrav reflecting on Dorian Grey
He’s a poet. These are his poems.
And this is my poem to him.
Whoa! Whoa! Whoa!
People. Take it easy.
Khushie baby I feel your pain.
I will be there soon.
But you will be ahead again.
These young tykes
got no respect for the old.
They got new bikes
and they don’t do, as told
So all we can do is
sit back and chill.
And grab that beer
while it’s still cold.
Haiku for you love,
I regret can’t be written.
Too shy once smitten.
Mornings of the past
There was a time, in the mornings
when I woke up to pee.
Through the window panes
of the loo, I would see
lush green trees swaying
back and forth with glee.
Today all I see
is a guy in a balcony.
Straining his eyes
looking back at me,
with a cup to his mouth,
sipping his tea.
.
(Written in response to Good Old Days)
On Flu
There was a guy named Flu.
An irritating fella he was it’s true.
He bothered folks for no rhyme no reason,
knocking on doors no matter what season.
Persistent little cretin was he, he was quite bold.
Those who warmed up to him, he left them cold.
He came like a breeze and made them sneeze.
With vain arrogance he would always bloat,
whenever he got hold of an unsuspecting throat.
Good folks got weary of this uninvited guest,
they decided to put this pest to a rest.
Monsieur Flu never had thought,
that he would have to face hot hot broth.
People finally managed a coup,
when they fed him chicken soup.
At last bested, made to leave.
He never imagined he would meet people
with tricks up their sleeves.
.
(Written in 2010 for Sari who eventually slew her flu.)
Collaboration with Ojasvi Mohanty.
Illustration: Ojasvi
Wordplay: Me with Oj throwing interesting plot turns.
