Winter

I am a man high on stuff usually,
Temperature fluctuations, I am oblivious of.
My body is always hot, insulated otherwise,
I am a man hot by nature, though I often cough.

Whether in presence of other warm bodies,
Or in solitude, without any human touch;
I live on like a roach, unperturbed,
Nothing really matters to me much.

But tonight, and I know why,
As chapters of my life, before me, unfold.
Even though a bottle of wine has already been downed,
For the first time in my life, I feel cold.

Refuge

Days before he died, he exclaimed,
"Why does it always take grief to bring us together!"

He's gone; his legacy, I hope , remains,
His words will stay with me always.
But I have been through phases,
Where even grief could not mend ways.

Sometimes it suffices,
To soak in some heroism,
Reality is not worth remembering,
Take refuge in benevolence and altruism.