Just one of those : A glance at them..

When everything else matters..and they find their existence on this blog..well almost..
After a Toyota Corolla passed by the auto-rikshaw I was traveling in, inside, three tryinng-to-be-paris hilton species, telling the story of thousands others alike)

“A party to attend, planned weeks before, action taken in the weeks passed by, impact of tonight’s gig, an impression for eternity.
From buying chic jewellery, to Gucci-Armani combo of clothing, to uncover everything that should be,
a visit to the parlor to hide everything that must be,
a million calls to gossip about everything that has to be,
tears and screams of agony and ecstasy for every relationship that wasn't meant to be,
after party gossips about every guy and gal that seemed to be,
affluent parents showing off at social gatherings for their underprivileged child's upliftment that needs to be,
the entire journey of their physical and mental state being written at iWrite because their spiritual state didn’t deserve to be..”

When everything else.. doesn't matter..

(After passing some 50 people, on footpath, waiting for their divine, to anoint them as breadwinners.. )

“For each man who eats the garlic version thrice everyday, in an air-conditioned room, with extra topping and cheese, and spends every moment of his life, to earn ‘bread’ for himself and alike, trying to win a race which is essentially nothing more than an infinitely large circular loop,
Thousands crave for the 1% of the basic version of that bread for months, even years, but he walks with his head held high, boasting off hungry countrymen and materialistic belongings as perishable as himself…..”

A Child's Plea

I seek blessings in my final days
from a mother who holds on to my roots till this day,
bending over the inspector she has sent,
his gushing waters, ready to investigate my decay.

Suspects? My cooks, so I drop them in his lap
his cold blooded pile of pebbles forming a perfect trap,
several weeks of questioning, the greens turn into exhausted brown
but his assistants won’t let them go, nor let them drown.

But the boundaries show his softer side
his clods of sediments have this to say,
“How can such precious green foliage be the culprit?
We accompany them from now on, making sure they happily flow away.”

Not a demand but a polite request,
Leave it upon you as the creator knows best,
Oh Mother! The wise clod knows it too in a way,
That my each cook will go back to you, not here to stay.

All the investigations by the inspector’s juniors, does it amuse?
Does it really matter whether they come home as convicts or falsely accused?