Tag Archives: Poem

Elegy of a Dreamer

They say a fool is born when another ceases to be

I wonder who departed when I started to see.

This puzzling thought, might seem out of place

But then again, I blabber, with my own shameless grace.

This rhyming sucks coz I am no elegist

Its meaning I barely know or at least the gist.

But I guess it’s justified when a quietly desperate man

Wants to dream about HER, as much as he can.

You see this dreaming takes most of my time

On the roadside, in a rickshaw or even under a stop sign

I find a pretty face and let the reverie take me

To a far off place right next to Tristan and his eternal biwi (Isolde!)

I picture a Kodak moment with every pretty face

Coz it’s the only thing I can do other than tie my shoe lace

Behind every photo I write a fantastic story

But it’s all in my head with no reward and glory.

The story always changes but the plot remains the same

As if all too many photos are displayed in a single frame

My brain tells me the logic, my aortic pump the emotion

But my eyes see the chance I have, with every infatuation.

I dream of the jokes I’ve told too many times

The way she would laugh hearing the stale punch line

I dream of the conversations that would never seem to ensue

The way I would be besotted, regardless of my milieu.

A fool’s hope they say is a fool’s hope after all

But this hope of getting it right makes my skin crawl

This possible humbug may be humbug after all

But my emotions you see, are all over the wall

And yet when I notice another attractive visage

My programmed brain tells me the tactic, the game and her age

On my way to Tristan’s, I chuckle and realize

The girl changes but the fantasy remains the same

The girl changes the fantasy remains the same.

XX

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Filed under Absurd, Fiction, Poem, stupid

Nandu’s blue underwear

Nandu went to office today, wearing only a blue underwear

But it wasn’t one of those that leave the cheeks bare

Although the tiny garment came down to his knees

Everyone in the elevator asked him to cover himself please

You see, Nandu had reasons, to do what he did

Reason’s you won’t get unless you are a kid

Arguments and opinions that piled up through time

Today was the day he chose, and did just fine

His boss, his wife, his neighbour and even his paperboy

Took advantage of him and always played coy

Scheming plots to deceive him and treat him like a mite

The simpleton was harried and today chose to fight

Unconventional are the ways of those who defy convention

The yokel’s brain toiled to design a dark invention

He lay in bed last night, thinking what to do

With his wife tucked next to him he came up with a thing or two

His last plan was perfect, as he could not foresee a problem

They would get what they deserved, when he found what to give them

The sheer genius of it was that it had no flaw

He would savour their defeat after all the shock and awe

Today morning he left while his wife was taking his case

Once out of the house, he smiled, ready to amaze

People on the streets were only innocent victims

A sacrifice necessary he thought to rid them of their delusions

All his colleagues wore a scandalized grimace

And he knew that he had put them right in their place.

For he was a genius to pull off such a stunt

Today he felt like a giant and his boss a runt.

XX

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Filed under Absurd, Fiction, Poem

The Bored and the Beautiful

The wind blew her smooth hair astray

Quickly she sorted it with a mood grey

Glancing gently at her slim mirror

‘If only,’ she wished, ‘ I could be a little slimmer!’.

For she was beautiful, but she was bored

With an arrogance even bigger than a giant toad

As the passers-by leered and whistled

A country bumpkin asked her, “What’s the time?”.

Mortified, she replied in a manner crude

Just like a noble priest at a brothel would

Flicking her hair with one hand she said

“Don’t talk to me you farmer-Ted!”.

Undeterred by the lady’s harsh demeanor

He smiled stupidly and scratched his ear

Bold as he was, he lamely said

“Can’t you just show me your watch instead!”.

Becoming crimson with pique and irritation

She turned her watch in his direction

Perusing the timepiece he looked up and chimed

“I’m sorry I can’t read, please tell me what’s the time”

XX

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Filed under Fiction, Poem, stupid