I play my electric guitar on my amp,
Then there's a drum sampler,
And I sing & scream okay,
But without the bassist,
I feel like I go commando.

Fellows commented long ago,
"Without the bass guitar,
Your song feels hollow."
I looked for any bassist,
Here & there but to no avail.

What I ultimately found out,
Many play the Axe,
But none a bass,
Nobody plays it, not the bass,
And my best songs sound hollow.

Some day,
We'll meet.
And that day,
You'll tell me,
"Wish we didn't break apart."

Even today, I search for true love,
But it's elusive like the golden swan.
Even today, I look for it under the trees,
I look for it on the roads and in the parks,
"Wish we didn't grow apart."

It was just an instance of rudeness,
They tell me that I should've been mature.
Maturity, is it gained when you lose your identity,
Or when you stop reacting and start responding?
"Wish you hadn't left such scorny remarks."

I have braved hellish fires,
In you, I sought some balm.
You could've applied it soothingly,
But you left remarks so disparagingly,
"Wish I still could've been mature, and not reacted."

Someday, we might meet again,
You'll finally mature enough...
That day, you’ll understand my pain,
Yes, I hope you'll not be so rough,
"Wish that day comes soon enough."

Babe, I felt warm things for you,
But your remarks—me they burned.
Babe, I had plans for the future,
But you, typical Y2K generation,
"Wish future existed for you too."

The future can be changed,
It can be accurately predicted.
Everyone was happy—everyone but you,
Babe, you should've told your mom beforehand,
"I don't want to waste my youth on the middle-aged man."

This is the futility of my feelings,
They don't matter, because I'm a man.
All my successes, they are insignificant,
They are engulfed in the quality of being effervescent,
"For there are many more younger timely successful men."

Nobody reads any of my novels,
I may have went through a lot.
But I'm turning 34 in 36 days,
I've missed the bus, I'm late.
"And nothing else matters."

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

2027 is a prime number,
That 307th prime number.
Even 307 is a prime number.

On December 23, 2027,
I complete 37 years alive,
Even 37 is a prime number.

Time is a schemer,
But I'm also a cheater,
As I relived my childhood.

I was so afraid of math,
I'd had arithmophobia,
My father debunked it.

My parents looked after me,
They re–brought me up,
When I was injured.

It has been quite some time,
How long I would stay here,
But I should always rhyme.

I'm happy earning money,
I survived time's travesty,
In that time of adversity.

As I lay in the comatose state,
My Angel cried profusely.
Unknown to others, He cried.
And His tears fell on my body,
They healed my wounds.
My Angel is my Prabhu.
My Angel is my Father.

Maybe I am unlovable,
But not because I'm staunch,
Probably 'cause I'm too different,
And you search for someone familiar,
Someone humble who'll accommodate,
Person who you would proudly date,
Or maybe I'm assuming too much.
Like the paranoid paradigm,
Someone incompatible.
I've experienced life,
Oh, I've endured it,
You walked into it,
And you showed some dreams.
Prehistoric is my love divine,
Dark mystery it is for you,
Hot fantasy it is for me,
We're so very similar,
And perhaps that's why we repel.
I saw you for the first time,
Such an innocent girl,
I judged you by your face,
And I was wrong; I accept.
I said, "I wanna take you home."
The elders smiled,
Even your grandpa did,
He opined I'd take care of you,
Yes, I would've loved it...
However, the friends you talk to...
The friends jealous of you...
Someone "educated" you,
Against me, against love,
You changed your mind,
So, what about me?
It was an easy choice for me.
I just curled back into my shell...
I'm just being paranoid or eunoid.
For you're young, pretty young,
Both pretty and youthful...
Goodbye, my dream girl,
Goodbye, my youthful charm,
Goodbye, my hope of happiness,
Goodbye, my plans of a wedlock,
Goodbye, my scope of a lifelong bond,
Goodbye, my love of life.