I found you between touches on screens
through swiping on pocket machines
and I met you in the long shadow of sunset
you smoked a cigar and I a cigarette

We put the stars in our eyes
and found ufos and Russian spies
and gave ourselves to the not knowing
but knowing this wanting to keep going

So at one am we kissed at Chevron
with a smirking cashier looking on
and I did so without a second thought
because, honestly, how could I not?

At the 206 bus stop I patiently wait
For the red bus that's always late.
I have now waited over an hour
And my mood is surely turning sour.

I crane my neck for the glimpse of that bus
Which, when moves makes ruckus.
I am excited by the noise of yonder thunder
Alas it turns out to be a school bus, oh what a blunder.

I'm tired, hungry and even ready for bed
Yet compelled to wait for the bus in red.
If only I had money for a three wheeler
Alas I can't afford it on my income meager.

My patience is put to a severe T-E-S-T
As I stoically wait for the B-E-S-T.
A serpentine queue has now formed
But come the bus its door will be stormed.

My hopes rise upon the sight of something red
Alas it's a bus of another route instead.
The hunger has traveled from stomach to mind
Can someone please a solution to this delay find?

At the 206 bus stop I patiently wait
For the red bus that's always late!

An unintelligible verse,
Is worse than a curse.
A badly worded rhyme,
is a literary crime.

Instead of rhyming ‘bird',
With a word like curd,
Some people are plain absurd,
And will  use lacquered.

Poetry is emotion,
Expressed through lines,
Not word commotion,
Going off like mines.

The rules of grammar,
Have to be in place.
So please don't anger,
The grammarian populace,

By confusing their and there,
And misusing you're and your,
And using any word anywhere,
And thinking your poetry is pure.

Big words make not a poet,
Hyperboles won't add to the meaning,
So when you poeticise please know it,
Short stanzas are more appealing.

After the funeral, I was sent to heaven.
St. Peter stood at the gates.
“Welcome”, he said, “your sins are forgiven”,
“Go to the Chamber; Jesus waits”.

Jesus summoned me with boisterous mirth,
“How was your short time on Earth?”
“Fairly decent”, said I with a smile,
“Every moment was worthwhile.”

“Starting from the time of my birth,
I did plenty of things on Earth,
I studied hard, acquired a degree,
Got a job and made pots of money.”

Jesus shot me an unhappy stare,
And ordered me to take a chair,
Carefully he opened a slim file,
and scrutinized it for a while.

"You were given the ability to write,
To rhyme, to compose and recite,
You could have been a famous bard,
Like Shelly, Milton & Arthur Ward.
In the quest to earn bread & butter,
You poured your talent down the gutter.
A talented, young Indian Author,
preferred to undergo corporate slaughter.
Should I have written it on stone?
Man doesn't survive on bread alone?
Gifted with wit, spirit and foresight,
You were sent on Earth to write"

Shocked & aghast, I fell to my knees,
"Give me a chance, I beg you please"
"No", he said and refused to relent,
"You have an eternity to regret & repent".

I watch the prom Dance,
In an awkward stance,
my friends walk in with dates,
and the excitement Abates.
Alone in a corner,
I mope like a mourner,
With no partner to dance with,
No gentleman to prance with.
Amidst the mirth and cheers,
My eyes fill up with tears.

I rush out into the open air,
And by Jove! I see Voltaire!
With his satirical charms,
He draws me in his arms.
As I sway to the beats,
I'm waltzing with Keats.
Causing my funny bone to arouse,
Enters P.G.  Wodehouse!
Using nonchalant wittiness,
He acknowledges my prettiness.
And then walks in Shakespeare,
Who  wipes away my tear,
And my senses curdle like curds,
As he showers me with words.
While I repress the excited child,
I'm swaying with Oscar Wilde.
I'm rendered helplessly mute,
With his phrases so astute.
With a proposal so verse-y,
I'm serenaded by Shelly  B. Percy.
And before this fantasy can spoil,
I fox trot with  Conan Doyle.

And thus literally seduced,
into putty I'm reduced.
I am platonic-ally smitten,
By the genius of what they've written.
The dating circus can’t make me cry,
because a host of paramours have I.

When you're old, weary,
forgetful and dreary,
your grandchild will sit on your lap,
And insists you narrate your story,
before he goes for a nap.
Perch that kid atop your knee,
and tell him your delightful story.

Tell him how you studied biology,
And the science of the body,
And the wonders of economics,
And how to make accounts tally,
Bore him silly with math rules,
And crap you picked up in schools,
how algebra helped you land a job,
And physics helped you convince a mob,
On your first date,
You dined with your certificate ,
And all those sums in calculus,
Helped you during your first kiss,
How law helped you win your wife,
And grammar stopped you from taking your life,
when your spouse and you fought,
accounting rules sorted it out,
Tell him when down on your knees,
You were uplifted by degrees,
When overcome with emotions,
You narrated equations,
Tell him when nights got colder,
Geography gave you its shoulder,
Tell him medicine cures all aches
Including the vacuum of heartbreaks,
And when you're dead in your grave,
And flesh is turning to bone,
While placing flowers at your tombstone,
The Income tax laws will mourn.

If I were a witch; I'd cast a spell,
And put an end to lies men tell.
I wouldn't enchant their ****** nose,
But the place from where ***** flows.
I'd raise my wand, purse my lips,
And call the World to witness this,

"When men lie without a flinch
Their ***** shall shorten by an inch
And if they try to spin a tale
Their ***** shall, decrease in scale
And if they raise a deceitful stink
Lo and behold, their **** will shrink
Every time they make up lies
Their ***** will contract in size"

Making a molehill out of a mountain,
Will affect their natural fountain.

And planet Venus in the sky will look bigger than the ***** in their fly.

They will have to altogether give up lying if they don’t want their manhood dying

So there's a new kid in the classroom
and the other kids all stare
as he comes and sits right next to me
"Why's he sitting there?"
He's not your average schoolboy
he has the darkest stare
that threatens all who see it
thundering through his messed up hair.
He glares at all the others
as his choice they mock with glee
the pretty ones all clucking
as to why he would choose me.
But here he sits, unmoving
solid stone with stormy eyes
while I control my longing
for his hand upon my thigh.
He really is quite dreamy
in his own peculiar way
so I'm scribbling in my notebook
trying to find words to say.
Now he's staring at my notebook
I'm exposed, I want to die
as he reads these words I'm writing
and puts his hand upon my thigh!!!

Both* the apple and your lips were *poison
Your mouth tainted with the forbidden fruit.

But I wanted you
I wasn't unsuspecting.

you were the snake
everyone knew you were the villain.

And that is why I kissed you
and took your deadly gift.