Of socks, shorts and shoes…

The 7 ages of man.

The master of words himself has preached.

Shakespeare is good read;

But in practice?

Not so for me.

Backpacks, socks, shorts and shoes-

These are a few of my favourite things.

Those Cuban cigars,

The tequila sunrise,

The twirling lanes,

The rendezvous in the dimply lit trains.

The flapper girl’s laugh,

The rolling seas

And the Mediterranean summers-

Ah. How I feel at home between those bummers.

They said to me—wanderers are without goals,

And vagabonds without homes.

But did they not know—

All those who wander are not lost?

Convention said—

Paperwork, utensils, routine, diapers and frames;

This is where it begins

And this is where it ends.

Whatever happened to ‘out of the box?’

Looks like it was meant for ‘school text only.’

Did not know that it came with a statutory warning—

Not to be tried outside school premises,

Else it would cause mourning.

Just for once I urge your soul,

Stop.

Look beyond your comfort zone;

Ponder and think over your life;

What is it but a fish getting fried?

How would it be if only you could break free?

Fly high as an eagle and soar to the sea??

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A state of mind.

Wake up groggy;

Pull the curtains;

Let the darkness prevail.

Light up a ciggy;

Take the smoke in deep;

Make a peg and drink it at one shot.

Make coffee and down it at 2 am.

Sit and stare at that blank piece of paper.

You want to say something;

But what?

There is a lot to say.

Yet, strangely enough nothing comes out.

Hold that brush and stare at that canvas;

Your palette was once yellow;

Now it is shades of black and blue.

Sit at the bus stop;

Stare at people pass by;

Their hurry is mockery.

You know, as well as them that it is all for nothing.

I’m fine- the biggest lie you ever told;

They ask— what plans for tomorrow?

Hell, do you know what today holds?

Go about your chores mechanically.

Don’t think. After all do plans ever work out?

Silence.

Songs in the minor scale are now your silent jam.

Darkness is your cloth of choice-

It doesn’t ask questions, it understands.

These days all you want is for someone to come along

And say to you—

It’s okay. You are allowed to feel this way;

Sleep if you must, take the smoke in;

Don’t think, just rejoice in the silence.

There will come a fresh dawn

When your palette will become yellow;

When the light will be an honest break;

When uncertainties will turn into certainties;

When laughter will come back;

When you will know why.

Give it time.

This too shall pass.