A businessman next door

His long locks cut short,
The beard done away with,
They dressed him up,
In a formal attire,

Words censored,
Actions monitored,
They shaped him up,
Into a man formal,

He smiled,
When they grinned,
They cuffed him up,
To check his ways,

They conspired,
He stayed calm,
They resisted,
Held him down,

He tucked his shirt,
Looked into the mirror,
At the man ready now,
The man who meant only business.

On board

Raced untiringly, A wonder he admired,
Strong metal it was, bodies with flesh inside,
Lost in the tranquil of maddening speed,
Almost free, as a bird high in the sky,
The joints and the track beneath rumble,
And it's not noise, but music of a kind,
Open the door, to the never ending fields,
And feel the air hard against your face,
And it's not pain, but a pleasure inexplicable,
The kid pressed his face against the window,
As if reflecting back on the better times,
Not wanting this journey to end, nor tomorrow to arrive,
Thirsty to soak it all up, right here tonight
I wanted to go, ask him what was on his mind,
But decide otherwise, letting him have his time,
As I lit a cigarette by the door, I wished,
If only I could spend the rest of my life on board.

The new window

No cracks in the ground,
Nor tornados in the seas,
It was change for sure though,
Butter making way for cheese,

Same cycle of days and nights,
Their lengths didn't alter,
Nature, though changed its course,
The laws did falter,

For this was a change,
From joblessness to no time,
A sharp curve inverted,
Guilty of no crime,

No time for words,
Words he lived for,
A passion that burned,
Inside a soul still pure,

Chucked the world,
He soaked himself in nectar,
Wrote tirelessly, from a room,
In the city's fourteenth sector.

E O L

Actions and reactions melt away,
Engulfed by the void of time.
Why care if the nightangle sings,
Saints rant, or the street dogs whine.
Ends a memory at the end of this line.

What if the sun doesn't rise tomorrow,
Paint your dreams on the blank sky,
Let the night sink into its own darkness,
Who called upon the stars to shine.
Ends a story at the end of this line.

A thousand lost cigarette butts,
And their futile wait to be reclaimed,
Dope is gone, so are the shots,
Forgotten are the bottles of wine.
Ends an era at the end of this line.

Above noble souls, and thoughts benign,
Minutes and seconds, by themselves align,
For a bright tomorrow, with a precise design,
The first toast to them, the last one be mine,
Ends this day here, at the end of this line.

Waking up!

And one fine morning,
I wake up to see,
Another new day progressing,
As it ought to be,

I light up ,
The usual morning cigarette,
Coming back to life,
And to terms, with that one secret,

One that I've avoided,
For so long now,
Retaliating all questions,
With one simple 'how'.

Catching a glimpse of the paper,
I take one deep puff,
And smile at the ignorance,
I've shown towards all this stuff,

Unlike the world,
Fussing over how to show,
Am pissed off, knowing,
There's still so much left to know!

Of the dogs and bitches!

Through times of my life,
And through the ones beyond,
I've seen them every single day,
Been with them, wasted time upon,
And I've met ones of the other kind too,
If not noble, atleast indifferent,
Having stayed there in their minds,
Bastards of both categories,
Ease in captaining thoughts,
That for sure is one thing,
Making any day grand,
Is a talent, few are blessed with,
But every night I get sloshed,
I can't help but wonder,
What's the reason behind,
My hatred for dogs and bitches alike!

Fickle, yet alive.

A feeble squeak,
Darkness hovers,
Slained in a swoosh,
The mind rots deserted,
To Virtuosity,
A last toast,
That would be it,
Freed now is the host.

Bade adieu with,
The roll of honour deserved,
Bach's tribute,
And a Cognac,
Twenty one rounds,
Into my head,
Be blessed with peace,
Ones lain dead.

Ain't no tear in my eye,
But I grieve,
Penned a song,
In its natal memory,
Inside the mind,
Valiantly it fought,
Wishing I tell its story,
The death of a noble thought.