Poor little Johnny boy loves monkeys and Shakespeare.
He sits and taps the tattered typewriter glued to his chair;
When he is not hiding under the polka-dot blanket in fear
Of the bogeyman that his ex-wife left for him to deal with.
It’s tea-time now, and through a broken kitchen shutter
Johnny sees a young couple in the park beside McLaren’s bar,
Kissing passionately upon the glossy green grass underneath.
He sips his coffee more sensually than the lover smooches his date
And duly returns back to typing, oblivious that the cake he just ate
Was licked by good ol’ Marley, his Capuchin pet;
And so Johnny types on in search of his Shakespearean sonnet.

When you look on as the sun sets for half a day
To do his bit for that other half of humanity
And hear mother in the other room say,
“See you dear”, as she goes out wearing her nocturnal face,
(Or perhaps washing off the one carefully reserved for you)
While you, as the demons of your creation come to life, brace
For your daily battle against the invisible monsters of the night,
You, a veteran now, I’m sure will fight;
And even as your specters petrify you to sculptured stone,
You will, from your plastic throne, keep them at bay;
And yet again survive alone for another day.

On an orange summer afternoon I met you;
Then a stranger to the city, I was, when you found me
Among all the scrambling silhouettes you beheld.
Naysayers might call it luck, but certainly
I am not optimistic enough to call it fate.
I was intoxicated on others dreams,
While you were one getting acquainted with regret.
At the city square, where eternally the hypnotised fret,
I inadvertently pretended to be different;
And pity, you were desperate enough to believe
That for you this deranged soul was meant.

With those glittering black eyes you enchanted me,
Your young skinny hand reached out,
Covered in dust, it was yellow; glowing bright
In the red swan-song of the fading daylight.
I was compelled to stop; possessed by your sight
I waited, for I was certain you would speak.
But no innocent voice emerged from thin bruised lips;
No begging for help; food or alms you did not seek.
Your silence blared among the bedlam around us.

You stood beside me and your hand - the magic wand
Though dilapidated, did still manage to possess.
Alas, I was hesitant in my response, kept observing you
For what was, quite evidently, too long a time.
And then the moment was gone; you withdrew.
Some other hypnotised being passed us by,
Perhaps for you, she ostensibly had a less unsure gait.
And off running you went behind her;
As I watched you follow yet another bait.

A wonderful evening I spent, trying in vain
(Wonderful, for I was alone with the sound of rain)
To find a word that would describe you,
And by some luck rhyme with 'pain' (that’s my pain) too.
Though I had my doubts about what I stood to gain,
Devoting my precious loneliness to your memory;
I understand now it was a hope that you'd someday see
That we could have been happy, if for once you believed me.

In the shade, under the trees, in my garden of gloom;
I was enjoying a  quiet solitary afternoon,
Accompanied by the wind and the flowers that bloomed
Among my lovely weeds that had grown too soon.

While getting acquainted with these elements I had found,
I heard from my porch a curious sound
Of nervous flapping of wings, and an eventual thud.
"A bird...it probably hit something", I thought;
And rose, dropping my rose, and turned around.

From a distance, I saw the poor soul fight
To fly off the ground, flapping with all its might.
As I ran up to where it struggled, it seemed
For a moment that it would succeed;
And for a few seconds, it was indeed in flight.

My delight was short lived though,
For soon its wings ceased movement; I saw
It fall through the air and land beside my feet.
The bird was quiet, even as I carefully lifted it
From the ground; and that's when I came to know,
That it was lifeless.

The cranky sound of the rusty gate,
Proclaimed that I might have been too late;
In paying my visit to an old mate.

I wavered ahead to the front door;
Where the rusty lock that the house wore,
Stated that the occupants lived there no more.

I turned around, and might have thought my memory
Had tricked me in making a mistake;
But the sight of the distant blue lake,
Made it clear that none such was made.

With a heavy heart, I commenced to walk away;
When the lone sound of a crushed leaf,
(For there were many on the lawn astray)
Made me pause a moment; and look beneath,
And reflect upon my latest grief.

Walking alone along the street,
He wears the headphones like a crown.
Too proud; he doesn't smile to greet
Any chance soul he happens to meet.

His heart skips a beat; that song -
A key to memories from an era bygone.
He takes out his phone, turns it on,
Wishing for a message or a missed call;
Nope, no such luck...no luck at all.

No metaphors required, its as clear as day
He has to do this, there's no other way,
Lost in translation, he can't find
Words to speak out his mind.
Her goodbye is still fresh in his memory,
His goodbye fresher still in his mom's.

He wears his crown with pride,
And keeps walking with a nervous strides.