Honk honk honk honk,
Honking till our minds go bonk!
Honkin’ here, and everywhere,
Honkin’ even if no one’s there.

Honking like they’re driving high,
Honking like they’re ’bout to die.
Still honking after seeing red,
Honking till our ears bleed blood.

Then there enters a tortured guy—
Probably the wisest in Mumbai:
“Gimme a *****, lend me a hand,
Let me show them well who owns this land.”

One of the greatest makes of mankind:
The decibel meter—time to shine!
You wanna honk? Go ahead—
If you want the timer reset instead!

The more you honk,
The more you wait.
Stay within the limits—
You’ll be safe.

No more honk honk honk,
No more minds going bonk!

Desire bleeds beneath my skin, your name a silent flame,
I’m falling through the shadows, caught inside your dangerous game.
Lust wears the mask of innocence, but I see the truth behind,
Carving my name into your bones, a fate that’s intertwined.

The air ignites around us, fire tangled in the night,
You are the grey-lit sky — cold, distant, yet burning bright.
Moonstruck and broken, lost inside your endless storm,
A fatal craving pulls me close, where love and poison form.

Once upon a time,
there lived a family of four.
There were always disputes and quarrels
behind the door.

All four brothers
stood firm and high,
while the father looked back at them
with a sad little sigh.

With all failed attempts
to resolve the fight,
he would teach 'em a lesson
to set them right.

"Go fetch a bundle of sticks,
just near the cattle!
Lemme teach you all a lesson—
a lesson to never battle!"

As they trudged along their paths,
under their breath they mumbled,
"Now what are these for?!"
They groaned, and they fumbled.

In the house, the father
told them to break the lot.
They tried and tried and tried,
but in the end, could not.

Then the father said,
"Now, break a single one."
In just a matter of seconds,
it was already done.

Now this is where they realize the moral of the story...

When we are together,
we are strong and hard.
We have the gift of unity—
thank the Lord!

When we are divided,
we are easy to break.
But when we are united,
a good team we make.

"Now do you realize
the mistakes you've made?
Now do you realize
the values you can take?"

"Yes, we do—
we're proud to say!"

Stems of memory
sprout from the roots of our heads,
nourished by cleansing rituals and events.
As we mature, so do they—
a young, shaggy tuft flourishes into thick threads,
looping at the ends like grapevine curls.

Some strands grow weak and brittle,
corroded by storms of stress,
waves of sweat,
droughts of heat,
and floods of chemicals.

Eventually, they loosen—
too exposed, too old to thrive alone—
and slip down the drain in scribbles of ink,
pulling along unfinished stories and thoughts,
leaving gaps, holes,
blank spaces in memory.

In time’s wrath,
what once bloomed and burgeoned
wilts and withers
into dry, forgotten clumps—
until one day,
no roots, no memories—
only silence.