One evening…

On the silver velvet the boats did roll
One by one with a tiny flag
The dying sky is splashed with gold
And the weather’s nice and cold


Behind the curtain

Behind the glittering lights and metals
Behind the rich man’s lane
Lies a narrow street of petals
Where real lives thrives in pain

They know not I am writing of them
They care not I am in their midst
They’ve burried their heads in sands of time
And lost in the morning mist

Night out

Walking in a busy street is so much fun. So many faces with so many expressions. I pretty much camouflaged into the sea of souls. It wasn’t difficult to blend in perfectly. Within seconds I was just one of them. What more could I possibly ask for? I am an introvert that likes crowd! Or shall I put it this way, I like people-watching without me being watched.

Just when I was soaked in the sunshine of night I heard someone yelling “whore, whore”.  ‘How disgusting!’, I thought. More so, how embarrassing it is for the victim of such a public humiliation.

I looked around hastily. Unable to locate the epicentre I stood still. The yelling continued. “Pibe… seben…jeero…jeero”

‘Ah!!’ I gently slid my hands into my pockets and walked into the night.

Snap shot!

I sleepwalked out of my apartment building to grab a cup of coffee at a nearby coffee shop. On the way is this hookah bar where a barely dressed working-lady was lighting up charcoal. Because she was staring at me I cast a drowsy smile back at her. She screamed ‘eeeh!!’ and I took it as if she meant to say ‘Early morning??!!’

I snapped back from my sleep instantly. The red bull effect! I threw my hand and protested “NO!!”

She stormed inside with a hysterical laughter.


Grumpy grandpa had a goose
That laid a golden egg everyday
But they killed the grandpa and his goose
On a bright sunny day.

Gone was all that came for free
They had to sweat for bread and tea.
Shootings and looting were on the rise
Greed was paying it’s price!

The going got tough and the tough got weaker
To their surprise it was all much quicker
How do we undo the done they asked
A wise question that came out at last.


Rolling down the valley towards a molehill
Taking down lives and houses and riches
The cornfield of filth – see? I made you spill!
The bad, the worst and some witches.

They were there: those that are not of their blood
Caring for none and daring to reach
It wasn’t rain they feared, it was the flood.
May be this is how he chose to teach.

Now they knew. Well, not all of them!
The colour of blood can only be red
We have to go where we came from
Some went early while the rest are dead!