The crowded room and eyes that abound
Some locking, some moving on,
Some turning back, after seeming to move around,
Then the music plays, the dance is on.

The lights flash and everything throbs.
The breath. The hearts. The blood.
Emotions frothing while passion bobs
Up. Up amidst the sweat heated flood.

Hands brush a sculpted body ahead,
The eyes, those eyes, turn;
An invitation to a far-off bed,
While here bodies burn.

The music vibrates ‘round the borrowed room
And consumes the frenzied mass;
It’s almost a densely packed womb
Where energy astounds but seldom lasts.

A vivid range of humanity,
Each heart fighting his own fight;
A valiant war against eventuality
Ultimately done to find Mr. Right.

What I Know of Heaven and Hell.

I have never asked for much.
Just to live the way You made me.
I have lived by my terms alone.
Those were conducted honestly.

No great ambition, no low vice,
Yet I’ve suffered loss, greatly so;
But I have shown no cowardice
And this is something You do know.

You put one hubris in my heart:
This need that burns within my core.
You caressed it thrice with your pawns
Ultimately, I was Your whore.

You threw down love, like ‘twas my fee,
For all that I have given You.
Maybe my mistake was calling you Father
After lying before you naked and true.

I love You. But don’t treat me thus!
It’s unfair to make me desire.
On giving, you make me Your whore
But know that makes You my buyer.

If You need revenge of some sort,
You are exacting it quite well,
And in the pain of my loved ones
You are creating my hell.

People talk of life after death;
But, oh, I know the truth so well,
Each smile You let is my heaven,
Each tear You force is my hell.

7th October.

The Way To Be.

Superficiality is quite “in”.
The right amount of Prada and Gucci,
The right amount of relative sin;
The right man to see, the rich one to be.
The right kind of smile (eyes should hide the lie),
The right company (those infamous friends),
Right surgeries as time passes you by.
Right faith? Well, on current fashion depends.

Love’s idiocy! Oh, it can be bought!
Careers have no place at all for virtue!
To bed Lucifer, battles are fought;
The good are boring and are losers, too!

The loss of honour a small price for fame;
Though your mother shuns, the world knows your name!

22nd November.

On Thought.

In my heart there are certain places that are shared by none;
For those are the places restricted to the number one,
Among whom special people share a certain heart-view;
And amongst this number I count you.

In life, life itself fails to allow words to express each emotion –
Every fish can certainly not describe each and every ocean –
Aye, at times, a word communicates itself by thought,
In days like these, these are rarely wrought.

The thought to call out lurks all day, then the eye spots an eye,
So this thought suddenly unfurls its wings and begins to fly,
When the eye, done, blinks and rebounds to it, by-and-by,
The thought is consumed by the blue sky.

Words again I use to describe the thought that was forgotten,
Threads of silk I need to use to tie up this wayward cotton,
To let you know, in this place, in my heart, where you reside,
There is but soft simple cotton with no silk beside.

“Baby, I have been here before”

Baby, I have been here before,
When lovers have said no more
And everywhere there are dark broken sighs;
Tearing apart all the feeling
That a sad heart is concealing
And all that’s left to be spoken are goodbyes.

Faith has dealt us a cruel hand,
All I’ve to do is understand:
There’s no desire for me shining in your eye,
Just a vacant space where love grew;
There isn’t any need within you
That I could try to completely satisfy.

To Di-

Terror in my heart
Rests placid,
Like a corrosive acid,
That bores though my mind.
Not a breath of calm it leaves behind.
Such breathing to look forward to
Is what drove me to find you.
But you are caught up in World Power
And upon questing hearts you rule and glower.

Terror in my heart rests placid
Making its present beats strange and flaccid;
Something it’s not a stranger to:
The world has had its share before you;
But now two oppressors it cannot endure.
Quick! Quick! There’s got to be some cure!
Do I let it burn, shrivel and die?
Hope for Providence to hear its silent cry?
Do I let the world and you succeed?
Or find ways to make you both cry and bleed?

“If I seem sad do not bother to stop by”

David Boyd's Betrayal

If I seem sad do not bother to stop by
And ask if things are awry,
Just walk on and I shall be fine
It’s just another phase of mine.

(I think too much that’s the thing,
Or maybe it’s an excess of feeling.
Perhaps love has caused me grief
Or a friend has shred my belief.
I set a lot of score in both
And both have me at the throat.)

But you stop and question these tears of mine,
And ask who has cut me this time.
You are not my lover and I refuse to say
What makes me act this way.
Instead, clutching my bloody throat, I walk away
And you realize what happened today,
Since on your shoulder I do not depend,
The wound was caused by some old friend.