Capowrimo

I am not a poet, not as yet

I just dress up few lines of the prose with gaudy frills, and send them to a party of poetry. During this month of April, I will try to attempt one poem per day. Yeah I am joining those poets who are attempting to stretch their muscles and produce one poem each day. Not sure if I will be able to do that, can’t promise cause poetry is not something that I plan to write, poetry is something that knocks on my door and I just let it in…

Well this month I hope it knock everyday cause I plan to participate in Capowrimo and will also read Napowrimo

If you are participating too, send me your link and I will visit you everyday :))

Life is like that only-part 5

Pain visits me today, uninvited,
choking me till I am charred by its heat.
I welcome it knowing
that if I didn’t feel it I would be in wrong place
Together, under soft covers,
we stretch for a while
Pen lays untouched, inks dry;
muse awaits till pain exhausts its pride

Betrayal

Once again it failed

To serve my words
seasoned with lust
It swallowed up my verse
That I had meticulously fed
Into its black hard tummy
I had planned a surprise of
Shower of love with
Jingle of music
On his birthday
While he cut the cake
It just burbed

I swore that day
Never to trust
Internet again

Enjoy this moment

One of my FB friend ask me this question
"If I were to die tommorrow what would you say to me?"

In response, I had this to say to her

If you were to die tomorrow
How would you have known?
Had angels crooned into your ears
And tipped you about the heaven?

Don't listen, stop, enjoy this day
Where bliss is all we can know
Why worry about what people have to say
When happiness is here to stay??

Need Relief

OUCH!!!
Each day I quarrel
With my limbs
Cause they too lazy
Always complaining
Pretending pain
From knees to the sole

Who will walk for me
If I don’t
In this journey of my life
I need to reach
Someplace
Where I can find peace
And tranquility

But my body knows not
Nor understands
Plays its tricks on me
Piercing thorns under my skin
Hammering crazy on my nerves
Won’t sit still, fidgeting
Until I let it rest
In luxury

It wants to creep
Under covers
On a warm bed
craving Nirvana
Pampered
With a hot bowl of soup

Hello! Can you read me?

Each day I wait for you
To say something to me
Just a whimper will do
To let me know that you care for me

I make noise
Stamp my feet
Snap my finger
To draw your attention to notice me

But lost you are
Into your own world
Where I don’t exist
Nor the memories of me

Have I lost you to the world
Where nature never speaks
Has your love turned to stone
And crossed overseas

Sometimes I wish
I could walk into your mind
Steal your thoughts
and coat them with graphic of me

Life is like that only... part 4

For every person who belittles me, there is always someone who lifts my soul and to that one person I smile back and I am unhappy no more

Life is like that only... part 3

Eyes burn, blistered by the smoke, fire is everywhere, surrounded by laughter and song, women circle the bonfire with sweets and happy wishes and then, there is splash of colorful madness and eveybody giggles with festive air, a colorful festival of Holi begins, family rejoice the pleasurable moments.

Life is like that only... part 2

What we learned was never what we were suppose to: It just exposed us to bitter truth, a smile of complex meanings, and living in the shadows of hopeless hope

Life is like that only... part 1

When I was looking for love, I was looking for peace, didn't know that they lived on the opposite directions and no friendship existed between them

Vodaphone, I am unhappy with you

Twenty five times I came to your desk

From cabin to cabin, I pleaded with your man

"Set my phone, check my bill
Have installed BB, want connection to my tone"

Your man in uniform only smile
Behind that mask, there is thick blank line
How can you explain if you not too sure?
Your tactics of customer satisfaction are quite poor.

Once upon a time, a pre-paid line I had
Just recharged my phone, Rs200 was fine
But Blackberry
Brought me to your front door
Pre-paid to post paid
You made me buy one more
Now I have two mo-lines, both post paid. Alas!
Poorer by fifteen grands, cash running fast
You are not clear with your hidden cost
You shock me, I am sorry, it’s so gross

In this competitive world, I can see
You want to survive, but I don't believe
You want to beat Aircel, Tata Docomo
And even exploit their private zone
But your ‘Happy to Help’ logo merely shrills
Doesn’t give me any friendly thrills
Such cumbersome interaction
doesn't please me a fraction
You fool common man online and in person

Vodaphone,
Can you hear me scream
I am terribly bored, I want to be released

I don't wish to rhyme
I have no time
I want my money back

You can take back your
Both post-paid lines.

Love-less Day

Once more, on these V days

The wind walks in through my window,
All alone
I pretend that I care no more,
There is no love in the air,
Parched are the thoughts
Under currents of hate
Fire burns the streets,
Power rules,
Egos glare from every threshold,
Unsecured emotions,
Hide under the skin.
Patience lay cuddled under silent rugs,
Blocking loud voices beyond stubborn walls,
You may un-friend me this time
I will not stray
Nah!

This Valentine day,
Love shall sleep all day.

What If.....

What if Sena behaved themselves and
prepared some soups
of sanity
We could live life, king size, colorful style,
and savor the sips
of equality
We would readily embrace the rules of trade
and even learn some
Marathi
If they didn’t crush us, beat our souls,
we would help, punch head
of instability.
Mumbai, a common umbrella for all;
we could breathe the life
of quality
Together we could grab the stars and the moon
and bathe in the world
of glitterati
Mumbai City, Spiritual Master to all,
be it Bihari, Sikh or
Gujarati
Why waste our breath in idle chatter
when we could be discussing
prosperity
We have cultured
gracefully,
our expressions,
mixed curry
Street food,
very tasty,
be it Vada Pav
or Pani Puri
In crowded trains,
we create space,
squeezing thin,
always in hurry
At every signal
we shop crazy,
be it inky quill
in words blurry
Tears stirred 
with laughter, sing,
vibrate at
every thrill
Weather too,
unafraid,
never scorching
our tender skin
We walk freely
at all hours
be it morn or
late nights
On our left side,
is the mansion,
and the slums,
on our right
Alas!
If only Sena
could be our friends,
we could create the magic
till eternity
something’s wrong
with our Mumbai city
It's mocking our
tranquility

This post has been published by me as a part of the Blog-a-Ton 7; the seventh edition of the online marathon of Bloggers; where we decide and we write. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton.here. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton.


The fellow Blog-a-Tonics who took part in this Blog-a-Ton and links to their respective posts can be checked

Strangers give me Fright

Strangers give me fright

When they’re smoking
I see them pull the match,
My heart is beating
They could make me choke
before this smoke is
through

Something in that smoke
results in fit of coughing
They don’t seem to care,
they keep chain puffing
Even if I faint
they will still be
unmoved

Strangers give me fright
specially those people
Who may look quite bright
until that moment
Their fingers grope for match
while the cigar hangs limp
Between their lips
and they think they are
cool

Its something in their eyes
which is so frightening
Behind those smoky rings
I see them bleating
I want to punch that lad
till he is black and
blue

Puffapuffapuffa
If they don’t stop it
Soon I will catch them up
and lock them all in the
looooooo

Sung to the tune of Frank Sinatra (stranger in the night)

Foodie Poem

Mom made breakfast just for me

Omelets, eggs in ghee

Ate bread butter, drank some tea

Crushed roasted almonds

Mixed with some peanuts

Served nicely

Geezh!

Indian food so delightful
Roti aloo dum
Add some spice, and butter, rum
Lay back and have fun
With some lassi churned
From that urn
Yum!

This form of poem is called Epulaeryu


The Epulaeryu is a short poem that describes or features culinary delights. Author Joseph Spence, who invented and named the form, put the Latin word “Epulae,” translated “feast,” with an Asian term, ”Ryu,” which means “form” or “style.” Accordingly, “Epulaeryu” would come to mean a poem about a feast or other culinary art with which the poet is especially fond.


The form typically describes various courses of a feast or meal, and ends in a singular interjection and an exclamation point, portraying the author’s excitement in the cuisine and its presentation. From the description in total, the reader should have a good sense (and taste) of the main course.


The Epulaeryu is a seven line poem consisting of thirty-three syllables, arranged in the following manner: 7-5-7-5-5-3-1 and “!” (seven syllables in line 1, five in line 2, and so on). Each line has one thought relating to the main course. The last line ends with an exclamation point, expressing the writer’s excitement and feelings about the poem. In this form, rhymes are a bonus.


As with many other short forms, there is no rhyme or meter. The title is at the poet’s discretion.

Catch Them Young

Catch them young, let them learn

To inhale the fragrance of the ink
Clothe them with the pictures and the words
Let them see the toppled world
Books that can be felt with soft, tender touch
Cannot be compared to keyboard feel
Child who learns to read a book
Will never experience that aloneness streak

Sea Shell Woes

Hide all sea-shells if you must
Invite your close PETA friends as chief guest
It’s not wise to sell at stalls
Trinkets made from live organs

Sea shells come out from the sea
To soak in sun and little breeze
If poked or tickled under your feet
You lift them slowly and let them be

Don’t take them home and pierce their bones
To make that gaudy jewelry
They do have life, if you must know
Beneath the sea, amidst greenery

Shells are beauty of the sea
What use can it be as an activity?
The soft mollusks pierced, removed from crust
Its’ abode dressed up for your vanity?

News: Chief Guest Maneka Gandhi informs police about the sale of sea-shell jewelry at Dilli Haat annual craft fair.

Muscle-less

Just a moment more and shall be done
Have sat too long on this muse, lonesome
Inspirations dead, muscles lagged
Had to peel off my skin and the fat

Cured and curried, bottled with rum
Surprisingly it melted, now feeling numb

Intoxicated, unmatched is your love
Bundled, twiddled, slowly I wrote
Ghazals, poems, text and prose
Something balmy to augment flow

Wrote about fire, charred my soul
Squashed, smashed under heart-ached glow
Scratched the pen to write folklore
But, now I am done, can write no more

I give up, I want my muscles back
To give the shape to my skinny self

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This post has been published by me as a part of the Blog-a-Ton 6; the sixth edition of the online marathon of Bloggers; where we decide and we write. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton.

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The fellow Blog-a-Tonics who took part in this Blog-a-Ton and links to their respective posts can be checked here. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton.

Ferry Ride

Just few days back I made a short trip in the ferry...and the ride was during the sun set eve-Oh yeah!

The seagull followed us for a long distance, greedy for some more of our popcorn, while the red sun happily posed for my lens as it set down to disappear behind the waves......Lo behold!

I stood, leaning on the railings of the boat, swinging happily on the crest and trough of the sea....La la!

The breeze so strong that I had to hold on and not bend down my knees..Chee chee!

There were tired travelers returning from their hard days work, some fishermen who had fishes that they had caught in their net, and some commuters sipping their tea ..Sip sip!!

I shared the boat with hundred odd people, they too were watching the boats and ships that sailed in front of me....See see!!

In the forty-five minute ride from Mora to Mazgoan, I drifted from an old fishing village to Mumbai South, by sailing across the sea..Yipee!!

Mogri's Best Friend Gets Married

What Mogri fails to understand is why people ever bother getting married, especially if they have no relatives to show off their status. Live-in relationship is much more convenient: live without ties, no danger of extra-marital affairs and no ego crisis. And if people really want to fill up their homes with children, then there is no shortage of orphans, you can always adopt as many as you want. She knows that there are many people out there who produce babies accidently and are willing to donate their trophy to anyone who is foolish enough to take up such responsibility….


"Remember Sushmita Sen, see how well her adopted daughter is growing and I hear she is adopting one more child” she said.

But her friend, Sunni, was adamant as she was tired of her fourteen-year-old-live-in relationship and was very keen on settling down. She implored Mogri’s help in arranging their marriage. Sunni had told her that besides her reasons to start a family, she also wanted to have full control on the financial status of her spouse.

“Are you going to follow Hu Wang’s Chinese traditional marriage or you would prefer a typical Indian customs?” she asked.

“Indian customs, Indian customs, oh, I love Indian customs, I am sure Hu Wang will like that too” she said clutching Mogri’s arm.

Now Mogri had attended many Indian marriages but she had not closely watched the traditional customs. She knew that Indian marriages, like festivals, are celebrated for many days and people spend most of their time eating, singing loudly and laughing without any reasons, but research was important to understand the details of the customs. She Google searched for two days, making notes on the wedding procedures, the list of things required and other important details. Next she bought the DVD of several Indian films including ‘Hum Aapke hai kaun” and watched it carefully to understand a typical Indian wedding traditions.

“First and foremost, we need a Pandit to perform the marriage” she announced one day.

“What is Pandit?” asked Hu Wang.

“A Pandit is an Indian priest who performs the marriage. He is normally dressed in dhoti kurta and is usually bald and fat.” She said confidently. Most of the films that she had seen on weddings fitted such description.

‘Where do we find him?” asked Hu Wang

“We will have to call the marriage bureau, the agencies that arrange the match also provide Pandit, sometimes, just in case….” she said.

Hu Wang brought out the yellow pages, called few marriage bureaus and enquired about the Pandit.

“Have you made a guest list?” Asked Mogri

“Huh?” said Hu Wang and Sunni together, looking at each other

“Arrey, you have to invite people for the marriage na. Haven’t you seen that in the movies and also at the weddings that you must have attended? We need witness and a bit of crowd.” said Mogri.

“All our friends are in our home town, in China. Here, in India,we hardly know anybody, you are our only trusted friend” said Sunni, pursing her lips and raising her brows

“I have lotsa friends on the facebook” said Hu Wang excitedly, “I will create a Facebook event and invite all my friends. I am sure they will come.”

So, the event page was created on the Facebook with three choices: confirmed, maybe or no. It was an open event and guests were allowed to bring their guests.

Fully satisfied they then focused on other things.

The venue booking, the caterers, wedding clothes shopping, flowers, decorations, lights and other formalities were booked over the next fifteen days. Chinese cuisine was arranged and Hu Wang, very much pleased, complimented them on their thoughtfulness.

"You can pretend that they are your relatives" said Mogri, winking at Hu Wang.

Mogri had read that all the significant rituals are performed during the ‘mandap’ ceremony. On the D-day, they waited under the decorated mandap for the Pandit and guests to arrive. When Pandit did arrive, Mogri felt cheated, because the he was neither fat nor bald. It was too late to argue. But where are the guests? Although there were assured of 200 confirmed guests and about 50 ‘maybe’s on the RSVP of the facebook, only four guests actually arrived, smiling ear to ear. Mogri wanted to wait longer for more guests to arrive but Pandit grumbled that auspicious moment could not be delayed

The ritual and rites of the wedding were performed, garlands exchanged and Mr Hu Wang and Sunni legally tied the knot and the wedding was witnessed by Mogri, four FB friends, hired musicians, caterers, waiters, mandap laborers and few party-crashers.

Luckily, the food was not wasted.