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Amit Shroff Dec 2014
Its just a fantasy the only regret is permanence,
The life of a modern day gypsy, an unknown destination.
I wake up to new faces from past day's bruises,
A long journey into some town, exploring the unknown.
Green sanctum reflecting the temple top,
Woken up by the gong of the ancient metals.
Treated like a royal guest, offered a lot of the harvest,
Walking down the symmetric coconut grooves.
I see vessels carrying newest of the goods,
But here they still stick to their roots.
True its a gods own country, abundant beauty,
I'm lost amidst the hills sipping the Malabar coffee.
Amit Shroff Dec 2014
You're my Greek goddess, all I do is worship you,
With characters like yours are only a few.
Not a moment passes without thinking of you,
To the heart you're a misty morning dew.
You listen to me tirelessly, console like no one does,
You show me the path that I failed to see in me.
Our roots are deep like that of the banyan tree,
We hold strong unsaid, we know we'll be free.

True its a mystery how far we go back in history,
Blending of our mind and soul, now that's a story.
I'm glad we've come so far to cherish,
There is no way, no way I'll let this perish.
I've memorized the mantra to your heart,
No possible storm can make our ways part.
They're jealous of us, glad you know that,
After all who better at this, than us.
Amit Shroff Dec 2014
The relentless sea attempting to come closer,
The sands tediously taking it all deeper,
The gusty Arabian winds downed by the ghats,
Resulting in an endless rain and light spat.
I ride with sea to my left, hills to my right,
Constant hide and seek plays the sun,
I see him by day fall, outlining the waters.

Its a spectacle to watch Oliver Ridleys ashore,
A struggle to live, hope we see them more,
So much to see, sure you'll be in wonder,
What's to sit at home, go out and wander,
The rhythmic sound of the century old beast,
Chase yourself away, this you can do at least,
Remember to get lost before you can be found.
Amit Shroff Dec 2014
Rhythmic sounds of the raindrops,
Orchestrated with the occasional thunder.
Pleasant as an age old glass harmonica,
With the tunes like the sounds of the heaven.
A medicine to an ailing soul.

The cuckoo's call is muted by the winds,
Only we hear is the earth guzzling the downpour.
A few peek from the light, a few rescind it.
Splashing through the puddles,
Reminiscing the lost past.
Trying to relate how we were, better off as kids.

The age is far gone where it was a play, now a burden.
We've lost, lost to the time.
Let gone of happiness they give.
Tiny thoughts and simple dreams.
Amit Shroff Dec 2014
What wrong did the children do?
Maybe it was that they had books in hand instead of guns.
The birds flew away from the dry branches,
Gunshots echoed the corridors of the school.
Junior or senior what difference does it make?
Life is a life whether that of a child or an adult.
Those who survived will live on with pain
But what good is this to anyone?
Is this enough to end jihad?
Musharraf or Sharif, Bhutto or Zardari none have done good.
All they did was to secure a bungalow in London.
No mercy is enough for this atrocity against humanity.
Dedicated to all those who lost their life in Peshawar attack.
Amit Shroff Dec 2014
I wander with thin hopes,to be with you one day
I'm so clueless,ways make me faint
With no signs to read,but only think and evade.
I see hope fading with the fall of every dawn.
I'm left amidst a million thoughts, I struggle to stay afloat.
The things that you say make me sway.

But there is your smile,with hazel like eyes.
And your black gentle loopy hair.
You pull me back, I hesitate to resist.
And once again I'm a clueless wanderer lost without hope.
Swaying between a yes and no.
Enough of it,let me leave in peace,let me live with ease.
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