Godawful poems # 15

RIP to 15 Bad Poems

A poem without a thought
A thought that leads to a poem
No edits no cuts
Emotions may sometime rust
But messages were clear
In godawful fortnight they were normally sneered
In rhymes with chimes
The verses brought tears
To those who cared
And nursed their muse
Now I too rest, this nonsense must end
Shall be back to normal poems
RIP bad poem, will pamper you again
Maybe
Next year.

Godawful Poetry Fortnight

Godawful poems # 14

My Online Friends

I wandered lonely as a cloud
Over the virtual webs and popular links
When all at once I saw a crowd
On FaceBook they were having chills
Beneath the super pokes, beneath the quiz
Flittering through my inbox streams

Continuous they would kill the time
And chatted on that gossip line
They stretched their words on my personal wall
Along with thoughts and quotes of day
Ten thousand saw I at a glance
Pollute my news feed with words that dance

I looked for a friend who meant much to me
But his news feed was most unwelcomed to me
Until I went visiting his personal page
And saw the activities of his day
I read and read his every space
Then surprised I was that he has a new mate

The game of scrabble is on hold
Words twirl and Mafia wars he plays no more
The games he plays now, obnoxious to me
I am sad, conflicted, unpleasantness surround me
It lasts for a moment, just a while, when
A group of better friends come on line.

Godawful Poetry Fortnight

Godawful poems # 13

Jai Ganesha

This Ganpati festival, I visit my friend where Ganpati is the Guest, I want to talk to the idol but my voice is drowned under the loud sound of music, and I cannot hear myself speak so I decide just to eat the Prasad that is delicious and which Idol may not eat.

I tell my friend that Ganpati is too uncomfortable, lower the volume, so that He can hear my prayers, but she argues that to get into the groove and get positive vibrations the loud decibels need to seep through her skin pores to enter her stream.

I tell my friend to sing soft hymns in praise of Lord, the sweet melody of vocal chords have much devotion and is soothing to the nerves but she prefers to play the recorded tunes so un-clearly sung with Bollywood themes

I tell my friend that if Ganpati go deaf, he may not hear her plea, her unfulfilled desires and her grief but selfish that she is, she plans to scream into His ears her fantasies and her impossible dreams.

On the beach she stands with Ganpati in her hand, before her final goodbyes, she is shouting “Ganpati Bapa Moriya, come again the next year”, again another scream!

I nibble my nails, I am too much under strain and I wonder whether Ganpati will forget the cruelty in one year and come back again? Maybe He will not, not even in her dreams!

Godawful Poetry Fortnight

Godawful poems # 12

Sinner

I hate to sin but love the sinner
In every act I am still all time winner

Under the table, I offer him cake
Icing done above, though it is all faked

Ministers, constables, or any corporate sister
All are in a team to extract something sinister

Nothing can be accomplished on a straight path
Zigzag I go, curving on their wavy heart

Forms and reforms have invisible dotted lines
I give them some bribe, they appear in no time

Long queues are cut for influential caught in rut
Over a glass of beer, all the obstacles are shut

Foolish I would be if I was not ready to sin
Why waste time at judicial courts,
When it is so easy to win?

Godawful Poetry Fortnight

Godawful poems # 11

Reply to Raamesh…

Oh well! Oh well!

You think of suicide by drowning in the well? But when you think of her, you say, “Save me, save me!”

You opt for a dope, though you wanted to take a rope but when you hear her sweet voice, you say, “Save me, save me!”

Poison might work for you cause your neighbors are not so rude, they love her melodious voice, and don’t hear you say, “Save me, save me!”

Guns are shunned when she walks over the barren land, the birds begin to sing and smile but still you cry, “Save me, save me!”

Ink is surely a relief but venom is never cheap. Somebody tell this Ozy to stop saying “Save me, save me!”

Godawful Poetry Fortnight

Godawful poems # 10

King Khan

Humpty Dumpty
And the King Khan
Were stopped at the immigration
Though it was not their fault
Both were famous
Both were smart
Still, media jokers promoted them to a
Publicity mall

Godawful Poetry Fortnight

Godawful poems # 9

Writer Wins

BJP party is full of ‘characters’
All pretending to hate Jinnah book
Forcing the writer to resign
For a crime of his personal expression

Members yawn as they see
The books disappear from the shelves
One by one,

Curiosity rules,
History emerges from the graves
Jaswant’s daily stingers rock

Expulsion from a party
Was not a dirty game
After all

Godawful Poetry Fortnight

Godawful poems # 8

Worthless, Waste of Time.

To rhyme without a dime is the waste of time
Even a wayward singer, on the road he sings
Collects a glance and a dime or two
But a writer or a poet
Will write and write and rhyme and rhyme
But he may never ever collect a single dime
For his time

Now isn’t that a crime?

Its a matter of utmost prime, when
His words are appreciated at a shrine
Sees his loved one depart before time
His memories he wants to make it shine
Telling the world about his clime
He doesn't think it is a waste of his time
So he gets words published in rhyme

And doing everything free was all fine?

But he saw his rhyme was used
At inner circle it was misused
If he wanted he could choose
To his sell godawful muse
So stuck-up he was in slime
Reached the scene out of line
None would hear his chime
They told him he was not on time

Alas!
Do poets have godawful worth of time?

Godawful Poetry Fortnight

Godawful poems # 7

NRI-Non Realistic Indians

They bought for me gifts
My NRI friends, relatives, uncles, mausas, mammis
Flashing their dollars, jingling their pockets
While I drooled over chocolates, they showed me their dental pearls
But that was years of seventies and eighties
When visa was rare and only rich relatives dared

But look at them now, in these times of recession
They envy our comfort, our capacity to race,
Our power of spending, and sometimes we are lending
Every common man on our street has a rich taste
Of mobile, and internet and web and surfing
While they carefully separate dollars without any grace
They have out-sourced their offsprings on to our side
while they sit thumb dwindling in this bad phase

We visit them now with our Indian goodies
They love our ethnic, colorful booties
They watch our movies, dance to our tunes
Even our local TV Channels they prefer over theirs
Our reality shows have NRI's participating
They grab our discards, which we don’t really wanting
Our gravies, our spicy food they too much liking
They are all now thinking of coming backing.

Godawful Poetry Fortnight

Godawful poems # 6

# 6

Suniti writes:

"O your eyes! O your Eyes!!
Like twin stars in the skies.
They make a storm
in my bosom arise!!

Lo! Behold !! they are
Peeping at me,
from a cloud of curls,
they slowly unfurl,
Pushing me towards
an early demise
Your eyes!!"

Reply to Suniti.....

Why do you ode to starry eyes
And compare it to twin stars in skies?

There are million stars shining up there
But in your bosom they cannot… All lies

They cannot peep from cloud of curls
Nor have I seen them slowly unfurl

Because stars, unlike eyes, cannot shine all day
They are visible only at night

Godawful Poetry Fortnight

Godawful poems # 5

Daring Ole Women

They hide behind a veil
They stare at every male
Hey ho those daring ole
Women of Mumbai trains

On Face book they often come
And pretend they are very young
On video clip and u-tubes
They show their pink, pink tongue

They play all virtual games
Flash quizzes without any shame
Flooding every news feed
Wanting to be framed

They steal the password of folks
And send those painful pokes
Hey ho those daring ole
Women of Mumbai trains

Godawful Poetry Fortnight

Godawful poems # 4

Stupid Blogger

Why does he write when none will read?
Why does he send his links to me?
What do I care if his emotions touch the sky
And bring the stars at his feet

I am not humored by his rant, nor
His ceaseless comparison to the birds that sing
His staying awake to see the sun go down
To hear the melodious song of early spring

And what should I do if I knew the precise date
When he broke his front tooth at tender age
When he took his first step before he crawled
To grab his clumsy bite from his maiden plate

I am pulling strands of hair from roots
And focusing on his scrambled text
He knows not of my this god-awful mood
When the poets of such cadre interest me naught

I am standing on my head, upside down
To get the rhythm from my feet

Godawful Poetry Fortnight

Godawful poems # 3

Twitter

From link to link
I tweet, I tweet
With feathers ruffled
A friend I seek

They take me an unknown zone
Of contents that are sometimes bore

With limited letters, messages sent
Make nonsense words, they later repent

Grammar, spellings, phrases, words
Jumbled up for thrash dump cans

Oh. How I long for my offline friends
They became invisible
Because of these trends

Godawful Poetry Fortnight

Godawful poems # 2

Swine flu

Swine flu to my country it came
Unwelcomed, shameless, giving pain
By thousands people down they drop
Dead, no vaccine can stop this dread

Take back you, USA, Mexico
Your swine come here with much ego
We don’t need such illness any more
Have HIV, poverty at our store

The masks are fashionable on our streets
In every lane, crazy media bleats
Spreading stories of horror pigs
That frightens, weak hearted flicks

Tamiflu, we don’t even trust
We never ever taste anything first.
Godawful Poetry Fortnight

Godawful poems # 1 A challenge

Godawful poems are back again Once more to be crazy and splutter nonsense verse Dabbled with humor if we can A challenge from nineteenth to thirty first Of August? Godawful Poetry Fortnight godawful poetry fortnight

Independence Day

Those tiny, little feet
Run, snaking through a busy traffic

Street urchin knocks
Awakening the love gurus
From their deep slumber
Pleading them
To lower their glass windows
And buy just one unit of
Tri-colored flag on
This Independence Day

His back drenched and soaked,
Clinging shirt against his skin
Droplets of sweat drips on
Feet coated with thick layer of dust,
Hair uncombed for days, maybe
His first meal of day is not yet earned
But holds the promise of freedom on
This Independence Day

Somewhere far away,
In an elite neighborhood,
Soft pair of feet runs up the shiny floor,
Through the spiral steps
To reach the open space
And sway the paper flag
Against the fierce winds
Innocent laughter fills the air on
This Independence Day

Tiny little feet pause, to hear
The murmurs of joy that dilute the
Thick air of pain

.Offline Wedding

Rahul looked at the clock on the wall that struck 9pm. It was time to shut the cash box, take the money, deposit the earning of the day into the bank and then head home and enjoy the bliss of meeting Karina online. His computer table was always cluttered with soft drinks, snacks and water bottles. The only time, he left the screen was when he got this urgent need to pee. She would giggle coyly into her webcam and ask him to hurry up. On the days when server was down, he was miserable. There was no cyber café closer to his house and on those days, all he would do was to fantasize and re-play the memories of their chat. And she had a way of turning him on. Her words jumped off the screen and strummed the chords of love into his heart and he was filled with ecstasy. They talked for hours, sharing links, photographs of their family, friends and their city’s favorite spots. She would show him the busy streets of Kowloon, the narrow street markets in the bye-lanes of Hong Kong, the pictures of the food markets that she visited regularly, she showed him the photographs of her room mate, the pictures of her family in India and also the pictures of her work place at her department store. He would share the pictures of cobbled streets of rural areas of Tenerife, those long, tree-lined promenades along the sea shore, the silver beaches and those exotic cultural festivals of the Canary Islands. He, too, like her, stayed alone in Tenerife, away from his family in India.

When he proposed to her, she was not surprised. Rahul called his parents in India and informed them about Karina and told them to meet her parents who lived in the same town.

“Are you sure, you have told her everything about you?” they asked repeatedly

“Yes Mom, we are very much in love, we really wish to get married.” He said

Rahul’s parents were still doubtful about their son’s honesty. They wanted to talk to Karina and tell her the truth that their son suffered from psoriasis, a skin disease which, although, not contagious, had made him suffer social exclusion and discrimination. They wanted to warn her that under stress, the skin burst into blisters that covered his whole body and his bed would be covered with white sand of dead cells.

“She wants to marry me against all odds, you don’t worry mom, everything is going to be fine.” He convinced them.

The wedding date was approved and arranged by their families. One week before the wedding, Rahul, from Tenerife, and Karina, from Hong Kong met for the first time on Indian soil. Their happiness brought smiles to strangers too. Both the families talked endlessly about the wedding plans and were happy that they had found a perfect match.

Many guests arrived on their wedding day. The couple stood smiling on the stage, greeting each guest, as their guests snaked through the queue to greet them with gifts, cash-envelops or flower bouquets. Rahul looked handsome in his branded suit that covered his flaky skin underneath his suit, only a small red patch on his face was visible. Karina would return her shy glance at him and smile when he whispered some funny comments. Suddenly, Rahul heard Karina mumble that she is feeling tired. The guest in the queue stared, aghast, as they saw Karina lose her balance and crumble down on the floor, with her eyes rolling and her body go stiff, then relax and go stiff again.

‘Oh no” whispered Karina’s mom as she watched her daughter getting her seizures. She quickly walked to the stage and rolled her over onto her side in the recovery position and let her sleep.

Rahul sat down on the floor next to her, shifting his gaze from Karina to the guests and back to Karina again.

Wiping the froth from the corner of her mouth, he wished Karina had warned him about her epilepsy fits.

Thick Wad of Notes....

My friend writes in face book status “A book, shut tight, is but a block of paper”.
And this I found it really philosophical and was inspired to add few lines...

The block of papers comes to life
When loosened off its strings
The knowledge overflows,
Wetting you from head to toe
With wisdom, u never knew
That it was possessed within you,
Your soul trapped
Under thick layers of doubt,
That had sent you wayward
To unknown zone,
As you thread through its grainy path,
The truth then
Slowly unfolds,
You enter into the gates of bliss,
Such powers lie within
Those thick wad of notes....

pic source: flickr

Mumbai Trains

People of Mumbai travel dangerously,
They just cannot wait,
For, empty train may not arrive,
You see their body protruded out,
Against the polluted air,
They reach home with a cake of dust,
Masking their body with dirt and sweat.

Many not sure
If they will arrive
In one piece when they will reach home,
So dangerously, travelling in this style,
Not afraid of banging on any pole...

Or sometimes,
Because of a ruthless killer,
The riots break loose and break the roof,
Of train, that throws many people around,
Their mangled bodies don't ever reach home.

Yes, this is Mumbai,
That we all know.....
It is made of people
Who just live each day,
Will they see one more day,
As a lone Mumbaite,
One never knows.....

Read My Script

Writers need just readers, my friend
Just read what I write with my blood
Don’t judge me, hammer me or kill my soul
It’s what I feel
Just so, my words flow

Happiness is not just success, my friend
I need the food for my lonely soul
I have burned the oils for many nights
To cook these words
And bring them life

Don’t compare me with other accomplished stars
I cannot ever even think like them
I tame my words and dress them up
Do read their performance
Just once more.

So, stand alert, hear them croon, applause,
Dear reader, applause once more

Twittering Muse

In a concrete jungle
Birds are silenced
But humans are happy
To steal their tweet
Fluttering, twittering
Exchanging ideas
Jumping from link to link
Savouring ideas, comments, suggestions
Learning songs
That birds would sing
While raven, crows, cuckoos, sparrows
Are lost
Into the maze of bricks
Internet yogis
Having field day
Twittering about
Their tweedy twits
They even share
their love notes in tweets
Now isn’t that not really tweet?

When Two Poets Whisper

When two poets whisper
In melodious verse
Lifting moods to
Cloud nine
The birds, the bees
And all human beings
Can taste flavors
Of sugar, sweet and brine

The verses sweep out
From under the skin
Flushing cheeks with
Color, shade and hue
The moment is paused
Turning senses divine
Under its sweet music
Eternity comes alive

Faded Tapestry

“What is that?” said the father to the son
“It's squirrel running down the tree”
“What is that?” asked father again
“It's squirrel running up the tree”
The day was warm, but the shade was cool
Under a tree sat father and his son
Father scratched his ivory head
His eyeballs moved from right to left
Son was deeply into a verse
No time he had for chatting or fun
One more squirrel passed under a bench
Father asked again “What is that?”
“Squirrel, squirrel, squirrel” screamed his son
“Don’t you understand this, you old man
It's a squirrel I say it for final time
Don’t cross me again, shut up for a while”

Father’s eyes then filled with tears
His memories flashed back to those lovely years
When son was raw and he was young
He had hugged his son for his every quest.
Patience was the order of day
Happily they had played every game

Not once had father yelled at his son
Who in his innocence
Had questioned every pun

Kisser Boy (Script Writing)

10.36 INT-NIBANA SOCIETY OFFICE CORRIDOR - DAY

WATCHMAN sits in the corridor, outside the society office on a low stool. He is watching from the door at the meeting session that is in progress inside the room. There are five committee members sitting in a circle. He can hear them all talking at once arguing amongst them selves. SECRETARY is examining the log book and accountant is making the bills. WATCHMAN sees EMRAAN HASHMI walk past him towards the room but he stops him from entering the office.

WATCHMAN
Hello! Where you going?

EMRAAN HASHMI
I need to talk to the secretary

WATCHMAN
You can’t, he is busy in the meeting, come back later

EMRAAN HASHMI
Don’t you know who I am?

WATCHMAN
(looks closely then blinks)
Oh yes I know who you are,
you are the serial kisser, right?
I have seen you in
Bollywood movies,
do you also give kissing lessons.

EMRAAN HASHMI
Yes I do, but I will give
kissing lessons only after I
move into this building

WATCHMAN
You mean to say that
you are buying an apartment
here, in this building?

EMRAAN HASHMI
Thats right, and that is why I want
to meet the secretary

WATCHMAN
(lets out a soft whistle)
Wow! I really want to learn kissing.
You wait here, I will tell the secretary.

He goes in excitedly inside the office and starts to speak loudly pointing his finger towards the door.

WATCHMAN
Saab, there is EMRAAN HASHMI
waiting outside, who wants to meet you,
its that same guy, you might know him.
The one who goes moochy moochy in all his films

SECRETARY
(irritably)
Yeah, yeah, we know him,
tell him to come later, we are busy now.

WATCHMAN
Saab. talk to him na,
it will be so nice if he is lives in this building,
imagine our meeting will start with new
kissing postures every month, *kitna maza ayega na*?

SECRETARY
Now, that is the reason we cannot give him
NOC certificate. We have *jawan choris* in the society,
there will be no morality left

WATCHMAN
Morality? You mean kissing is like losing one’s morality?

SECRETARY
(Nodding his head)
Exactly, the way he kisses, *Besharam!*

By this time EMRAAN HASHMI has already followed the watchman inside the office and is standing behind him

SECRETARY
(talking loudly)
Hey, you kisser boy, we told you na
that we cannot give you NOC certificate,
didn’t you understand?

EMRAAN HASHMI
Why? You are being very unfair.

SECRETARY
Unfair? arrey you will corrupt the *chokris*
in our building and then Shiv Sena will
make our life miserable

EMRAAN HASHMI
What has Shiv Sena got to do with this society?

SECRETARY
Don’t u know that Shiv Sena is very much
against foreign culture. In India, we don’t
kiss mouth to mouth in open public, *Bhaiyas*
on the road get very excited. In India, we only
hug, body to body, full length, but no kissing,
you understand, you kisser boy?

EMRAAN HASHMI
See mister there is nothing wrong with kissing,
it is only mouth to mouth, no body touching at all,
you don’t want body touching, I don’t touch,
if that is the way you like it. Come,
I will show you how harmless it is.

EMRAAN HASHMI walks towards the secretary and gives him a long kiss.

SECRETARY
(shrieks loudly)
Hey, move away, help, oh! you bloody gay

SECRETARY falls on the ground unconscious and the other committee members run out of the room. WATCHMAN looks at EMRAAN HASHMI hungrily, smiling ear to ear.