being one for a long time now.
My days used to start with a joint, a Charminar and a corn roast with lemon and salt.
When I was rotten, ridden and worn out,
Other people’s dreams, heaves and hushes seemed the best to experiment on,
If not for the petty papers called money,
I’d continue to rot, ride and wear.
Being a ghost ain’t so bad,
At least it has pushed me to feel elated
That a degenerating section is following the echoes of my generic past.
That if not in my name,
The word sing the same lull.
It has been good that now my day starts with a joint, a Charminar, a corn roast with lemon and salt, Beer mug full of white pumpkin and Chiku in Milk and fresh cream,
And, the Chapter 1 of a new book.
I just, like it I guess, not just to buy the mixer, white pumpkin and Chiku in milk and Fresh cream, but for the ***, nicotine and the new rush to blow
Or howl into, as well.
I just like that it has pushed me to soar at my own level of dreaming real in my name.
That someday soon,
My dreams will be mine.
And yours,
Will be,
Yours.
firstly, it is Charminar cigarette that I mean, not the monument. Charminar cigarette is the lone toasted or roasted tobacco of India.
It is certainly good that the publishing world is creating a heavy boom today. I can see myself in ink and paper someday soon. Soaring in the wings of my poesy, prose and its prosodic will be ringing and reverberating in but,
Ink and paper
Around
n round. And around.