"audible" poems
So aged he is, but still so zealous for his job.
It feels like he has only known his rickshaw.
The ancient bard in him tells Punjabi poems.
He belies his wrinkles as he pedals his ride.
Just putting to shame his fellow rickshaw pullers.
None remembers or even cares to know his name.
He just pedals and remembers his deceased wife.
He told me a Punjabi tale of partition...
*"We were really happy when it happened,
I was 16 and married to my beautiful wife,
But then he pressed for a separate Pakistan,
Just so much wicked was this demand of his,
Punjab was alight due to some people's doing,
We were to cross river Ravi en route to Amritsar,
In Lahore my childhood home was burnt to ashes,
My beautiful wife was still so young at that time,
She was ***** on the banks of river Ravi & killed,
In no cloth was she draped as they burnt her body,
After pouring whiskey all over her lifeless body."*
His voice broke and a stream of tears escaped,
Down his eyes they flowed like the river Ravi,
*"In front of my two eyes the men had ***** her,
Her mistake? Looking at them once & smiling,
Sin as great to be punished by such brutal drab?
What God, Ishwar or Allah did they follow?
I have known all & none advocates ****
To which parents could they born?
Must be the devil & the witch."*
By now his nose was red and his sobs audible.
He said, *"She was not just ***** she was also killed,"*
The ancient rickshaw puller gasped for breath as he said,
"Would the high heavens thank them for killing my wife,
She was a Hindu and an idolater with my mangalsootra,
Why they spared my life I have no idea but just remorse,
Will their Allah or God spare them on Doomsday?"
==============
Mar 20, 2015
Mar 20, 2015 at 6:15 AM UTC
Time passing -
Is not the tick, tick, tick, of the movies.
It is a barely audible, high-pitched ringing in your ears.
It is the low thrum of a distant compressor somewhere.
It is the sound of the long shadows brushing against the wall.
Time passing -
It is the fabric rustle of changing your position in a chair.
A cat padding along the oak floorboards of the hallway.
An electric cube powering a computer.
The sizzle of speakers turned on with nothing playing.
Time passing -
I hear it from a silent telephone,
From the idle doorknob and hinges.
From wooden steps leading to my front door.
Time passing -
It is all of this,
And nothing.
So much nothing.
Dec 10, 2013
Dec 10, 2013 at 2:42 PM UTC
Did you know that if you don't stretch in the correct way, you might end up thwarting the entire purpose of your workout and suffer unwanted injuries?
Doing pre-workout stretches thoroughly will determine whether you are benefiting from your workout or whether it's worsening your muscle tear. Here are the major stretching crimes that you should never commit.
Not doing a proper warm-up
According to gym instructors worldwide, this is the most commonly committed crimes in any gym. A warm-up is a must before any kind of workout — cardio or weights — and must ideally last at least 12-15 minutes.
Assuming that stretching is a warm-up
Stretching and warming up is not the same. You need to warm up first, before you are ready to stretch. A slow jog or brisk walking on the treadmill is a good warm-up.
Rushing through your stretching exercises
Stretching should be for the entire body. You cannot skip any parts. Involve stretches that work your lower back, shoulders, calves, stomach, quads etc. You should not move from one stretch to the other in very quick succession because that may cause untoward injuries. Try to hold each stretch for 20 seconds. When you breathe deeply and hold the stretch, your muscles get trained to tolerate the maximum that your limbs can go to.
Giving stretching a skip after a workout
You have done an hour of strenuous exercise and now you just want to rush out of the gym; that is a huge mistake. Spend some time bending and stretching after your sweat session. Then, do a cool down before you leave the gym.
Not stretching every day
You need to be your flexible best always and that can only happen if you stretch daily, even on the days that you aren't gymming. This ensures that your gym days are more fruitful and that you make the most of them.
Not breathing properly
Breathing right is a very important aspect of stretching. Breathe naturally while you inhale through your nose, expand your rib cage and upper abdomen as you fill in your lungs. When exhaling, breathe out through your mouth, preferably making an audible sound. This relaxes you. While stretching, you need to breathe out when you are exerting, that is, when you are actually contracting your muscles.
Doing static stretches
Never stand still and do stretches that work only one muscle. You should rather do stretches that work a group of muscles — like a lunge that stretches your upper hamstring muscle, your ankles and also your glutes.
Ignoring pain while stretching
When you are in the middle of a stretch and you feel pain, stop immediately and consult an expert. Your stretch should make you feel a gentle pull only, not immense pain. If you are hurting, you are doing it wrong. Rest a few days and then go back to working out under a qualified trainer.Read more here:www.marieaustralia.com/formal-dresses
Mar 31, 2015
Mar 31, 2015 at 5:40 AM UTC
Mother Mary, Mother Mary,
Whisper in my ear.
Give me something tangible to touch –
Something audible to hear.
Send me a sign, so I know I am alive.
I want to know it’s not in vain
The I let the world inscribe
Such a mark upon my soul.
Give me a sign to make me whole.
Help me find peace through the chaos.
Just let me know you’re in control.
Mother Mary, Mother Mary,
Whisper in my ear.
I know each breath could be my last –
Yet, my death I do not fear.
I’ve been shackled by my questions
And I’ve watched them as they’ve grown.
I searched endlessly for answers –
When all along I should have known
That the answers I seek are not ones that can be found.
So I pray that you’ll whisper. I pray I’ll hear the sound.
I pray that death holds more than what we bury in the ground.
It’s been nearly twenty years, and somehow I still have faith.
But I fear the truths I know are lies; I fear that virtue is a waste.
Still, I wait for your whisper,
Mother Mary, Mother Mary.
Despite how much I’ve suffered; this burden I still carry.
Because I trust this world holds reason.
I trust my struggle wasn’t worthless.
Mother Mary, Mother Mary,
I pray I suffer for a purpose.
Mar 11, 2013
Mar 11, 2013 at 7:01 AM UTC
He thought that he had been evicted like a raucous Irishman, late once again on the rent, his belongings and furniture strewn on the lawn
His cold, deadly stare and ruffled red, said the same, with haughty indignation written all over him
As could be expected with any eviction, belongings strewn to the street, it started to rain; large splattering drops falling from the sky with an audible impact, adding insult to the injury
But he was just a child, set free and off to learn on his own, his perch and roost along with his chair, moved to his new home
He had outgrown the large screen porch, which was such a ridiculous place for an Owl anyway
Wood and glen gone, surrounded by girder and screen, locked into the realm of old peoples coffee and cigarettes
Tucked up into the eaves ignominiously, or sitting on the lamp, grooming flesh from his over large and taloned feet
He would sit silhouetted by the dim red glow of the bulb, relaxing, until a noise would spin his head and he would become hooded and glaring death
The lamp added a glow to his eyes, which already burned with a raptors fire and he would become the personification of evil to the world of prey
Low and crouched, wings slightly spread; he would become the terrifying story that small warm animals tell their children at night to keep them in line and safe
But now he has been moved outside and all of his familiar belongings with him, or most anyways
Now he perches outside, either on the rough, twisted branches near his roost, or his favorite chair, and contemplates late into the night
But it seems that he prefers the comfort of his living room and he rests on the arm of the chair, quiet and pensive in the still and humid darkness
He stares at me while I smoke; the white plumes drifting like iridescent fog into the moonlight, while I observe him from his former home, illuminated by the dim lamp light
His saffron eyes gleam in the darkness, his dark form robed in that of the raptor, wings held down, with the tips outstretched like fingers
He stares at the lamp, standing like a pedestal against the wall and I wonder to myself
Does he want his ****** lamp moved out there too?
Aug 29, 2014
Aug 29, 2014 at 4:44 PM UTC
Consider the sea’s listless chime:
Time’s self it is, made audible,—
The murmur of the earth’s own shell.
Secret continuance sublime
Is the sea’s end: our sight may pass
No furlong further. Since time was,
This sound hath told the lapse of time.
No quiet, which is death’s,—it hath
The mournfulness of ancient life,
Enduring always at dull strife.
As the world’s heart of rest and wrath,
Its painful pulse is in the sands.
Last utterly, the whole sky stands,
Gray and not known, along its path.
Listen alone beside the sea,
Listen alone among the woods;
Those voices of twin solitudes
Shall have one sound alike to thee:
Hark where the murmurs of thronged men
Surge and sink back and surge again,—
Still the one voice of wave and tree.
Gather a shell from the strown beach
And listen at its lips: they sigh
The same desire and mystery,
The echo of the whole sea’s speech.
And all mankind is thus at heart
Not anything but what thou art:
And Earth, Sea, Man, are all in each.
7k
Just in the pubs and clubs
******* our own gear around
Seemingly, always upstairs
For weddings and birthday parties
Sorting out miles of wires
Well-worked practise
But when those amps were turned on
With an audible amplified thud
As switches are flicked
And their lights gaze like tiny red eyes
That's when I am ready
First number and the drums and bass
Connect to create new heartbeats
And now I'm into it
Not the man in the mill anymore
I'm the frontman for the band
And the music soars through me
As the night goes on and grows
The crowd has grown and is dancing
Gaining energy from the music
And feeding it back to us in turn
Now THIS is being alive
And so it was
By Phil Roberts
Aug 29, 2016
Aug 29, 2016 at 8:31 AM UTC
in dreams people end up in
places, shrink down to sizes
aren't faces but bodies, aren't
lips, just statues, no legs, thick
torsos, you settle for old faces
call them out from behind doorways
make love to them in hallways
but they disintegrate beneath
your hands and you spend
the time waking up trying
to fall back, the lights
go off in your dream and the
people there fall asleep, you
probably saw satan once
and said he didn't belong
there, your prayers weren't
audible but drowned out his
voice, you said no, you aren't
allowed to be there, this is sullied
ground, this is hallowed ground
this is
sacred ground
May 16, 2014
May 16, 2014 at 10:37 PM UTC
1216
A Deed knocks first at Thought
And then—it knocks at Will—
That is the manufacturing spot
And Will at Home and well
It then goes out an Act
Or is entombed so still
That only to the ear of God
Its Doom is audible—
5.4k
Q-Tips raised! Their storm approaches.
Swab those ear-gates free and clear.
Thunder frightens the rats and roaches.
Looming clouds are drawing near;
Audible anticipation
Waxes with our rising nation.
Hope-porn is the thing with feathers
flying low, right before the gale.
Strident left-wing get-togethers
Do their best to countervail.
Tribunals herald something worse . . .
Enjoy some popcorn with my verse.
Martial law—a new diversion,
Flapping wings on the Left and Right
Disturbs the coop (or coup?). Subversion
now displays its plumes outright.
Deep-state angels prove satanic
sparking upper-level panic.
Rumors can be quite arresting.
Cresting waves on the Psy-Ops sea
Break and roll, now manifesting
Dumbed-down mobs, conspiracy . . .
Some citizens awake to truth;
The rest rave on, benighted youth.
Oct 6, 2018
Oct 6, 2018 at 11:23 AM UTC
she sat on the beige satin couch
looking down at her feet
which were designed with intricate patterns made of mehndi
her nails painted a light pink
a color much like the subtle blush on her cheeks
she was fair, but not pale,
she had a shine to her, a glow
her face was hidden for the most
with a white lace dupatta
like the midnight moon hidden behind translucent clouds
most of her hair was tucked neatly away
except the loose strand which rested on her forehead
a curl, the color of sweetened caramel
soft, delicate; and ever so sweet
she brushed it back with her small hands
but it bounced right back, falling on her face
she looked up, slightly titling her head towards the light
the way sunlight hit her eyes made you want to never look away
oh, her eyes
lined with kajal, they stood out
the kind of eyes you could find yourself getting lost in
hazel and green- with specks of yellow and blue
there was a universe within those eyes
like the rainforest after a summer sprinkle
lush, pure, mesmerizing
but they were quickly hidden once more
as she delicately pulled the dupatta closer to her face
and smoothed down the crease in her silk kameez
her movements were entrancing
you could not look away
the more you looked, the more you craved to catch one more glance
gentle, soft, kind
never in a rush
you couldn't help but imagine what it felt like to feel her touch
the only words we heard her speak
was right when the sun began to set
and the orange-red rays reflected in the pearls around her neck, the only jewelry she wore, yet enough to adorn her
her puckered mouth opened softly
and she was bearly audible as she spoke
her voice like honey: sweet & melodious
if she never stopped speaking, you'd never stop listening
she spoke with a tender sort of confidence & surety
"qabool hai, qabool hai, qabool hai"
Nov 16, 2015
Nov 16, 2015 at 8:50 AM UTC
It will never tell its secrets
Old boards, an audible moan
Holding up the sagging roof
A crumbling foundation of stone
The years have done their damage
The summers of scorching sun
All the wet and icy winters
A battle with nothing won
An old harness in the corner
Wearing its coat of dust
A plow no longer plowing
Growing a harvest of rust
If we would only listen
Oh, the stories it would tell
Of barefoot kids in the barnyard
Mama ringing the dinner bell
Tonight will be the last night
That it shadows in the sun
Tomorrow it’s gone forever
The old barns race is done
Jun 16, 2016
Jun 16, 2016 at 3:15 PM UTC
Unleash your inner creativity
Where the mind and heart
Yearns to sketch the exuberance
Of the beauty of so many feelings
The soft inaudible utterances
Of the ink that flows through you
Becomes audible in murmurs
Louder and louder, they flow
Almost at the brink of insanity
Giving inspiration to creativity
Turmoil so revolutionary
Creativity is sometimes unsettling
Yet, so encompassing and revealing
Truth does find its way
Mar 24, 2015
Mar 24, 2015 at 10:43 PM UTC
I always thought feminism was just for women. That feminism was a bra burning, man hating, joke.
Then I had Mr. Thompson for AP US History. We were talking about the 1960’s and all the protests that were happening when we got to feminism and I let out an audible groan.
Mr. Thompson got quiet, and approached my desk.
“So you think feminism is a joke? Folks this is the problem we have with the word feminism. Because I bet you all think of feminism as a bunch of hippie women who don’t shave burning their bras? Well guess what that never happened. Feminism isn’t about putting women above anybody else. It’s about putting them on equal ground with men. It’s equality. And you know what? I’m a man and a feminist. You can be both!”
Mr. Thompson taught me two things that day that have affected me to this day. 1. That I was an ignorant ***** And 2. Teaching can change not only a life but the course history as well. So now I’m a teacher, and a feminist. I see these same boys who were just like me who believe in equality but don’t know what feminism means. So I try my best when I talk about feminism in my history class to teach them better. And you might ask why does the label matter? When you misunderstand or degrade feminism you make it impossible for actual feminists to affect any actual change. I get laughed at when I tell people I’m a feminist. I get it from other men, from faculty, even from women.
These people are not misogynists, but they aren’t doing much to help the cause either.
I try and teach what feminism is about but every year I’m noticing people think this is an outdated concept. If you think that women’s rights will keep progressing as a natural function of time you are wrong. I teach history and time and time again societies that have been progressive, changed and people became oppressed. We still have a long way to go but if we don’t take feminism seriously we can lose what’s been achieved.
Nov 12, 2015
Nov 12, 2015 at 1:45 PM UTC
My neighbourhood
Sun shines but it’s quiet in here
These mansions don’t seem to be occupied
Where is everybody?
We don’t see children playing on the street
We don’t know our neighbours
We all tend to mind our own chores
Audible tunes heard out of my small flat a few times
But I got told off for it more than once
This side of the world has no soul
I want to leave this high and mighty place
When I leave I’m never coming back
So long boring old Toorak!
Aug 30, 2014
Aug 30, 2014 at 5:41 AM UTC
It’s been said to cause success,
Yet its’ face is boldly grim.
Some even say it makes or breaks you,
Kills your soul, or fills the brim.
It’s been deemed the roughest test,
Where preparation meets implausible.
Whenever passion makes a breakthrough
Sounds of hell’s end become audible.
It’s received reviews of stress,
Of endless torture tearing through.
Leaving good men self-departed,
For they had no will to make it through.
It’s been seen in years of the past,
The trials of Job denote it well.
As Satan crushed his joys,
Job consummated to prevail.
It’s been said, “show no regret!”
When you look deep into your mind,
For this test is truly an artist
Creating a man, from pure divine.
So why let discouragement corrupt
Your trip through the abyss?
For it’s been said to cause success,
And that’s one hell of a gift.
Nov 20, 2011
Nov 20, 2011 at 1:03 PM UTC
when my hurt became audible
you protested with your history
I know only what I've known
and you begged me to be the bigger person
and so I was.
And so you grabbed one end of me
and I grabbed the other
and we pulled until taut, until
I was enormous, stretched
and distorted
like a lost giant or
A firefighter's trampoline-
my highest purpose became
to break your fall
and so I did
and so I did
and so I did
Jan 27, 2015
Jan 27, 2015 at 12:32 PM UTC
I walked into a sunset that did not belong to me,
Its vivid colours burning across the Mediterranean Sea.
In a fragile, elusive moment of composure
I gazed at the choppy sea moving closer
To the rugged, pebbly, rocky shore
Where I stood alone against the Rock.
The Rock of Gibraltar watched with a smile
As the turbulent Med pulsating with life
Scattered its waves against the strand,
And the sapphire waters kissed the ancient land.
The stormy sea embraced the coast
With fierceness intangible as a ghost.
The air vibrated with a taste of freedom,
With barely audible words of wisdom
That travelled across the centuries
To fill the tangy air with memories.
The voices from the past enveloped the Rock
In an alluringly mythical, protective cloak.
I gathered the strength I drew from the Rock;
Fears discarded, the resolve growing strong,
I walked the Med Steps to the very top
Against a dazzlingly splendid backdrop
Of the breathtaking views of the bay,
Basking in the aura of fears thrown away.
Intoxicated by the beauty, hungry for more,
I was feeling elated to the very core.
The fear of heights temporarily conquered,
The contentment felt almost awkward.
Suddenly, the world seemed a different place:
Offering the nature's graceful embrace.
As the starry night slowly descended,
In my solitude, I felt protected
By the mighty Rock standing tall and grand
Guarding the ancient, immemorial land.
Copyright: Nara Hodge 2018
Jul 23, 2018
Jul 23, 2018 at 1:31 PM UTC
I hold you in my heart
For my arms just shan’t
From the very early start
This sickly sweet torment
A quench-less thirst
A hunger I cannot Fill
Loving anguish, turned curse
Is for you what I feel
As I daze in your eyes so green
I am consumed with you
The most beautiful I have seen
And ache the very touch of you
The heart alone has its reasons
To succumb to such forbidden devotion
Unbearable loving emotions
Secret I dare not to mention
You are the treasure I hide to keep
Buried in my chest’s own heartbeats
The one & only so many do seek
The one who would make me complete
A barely audible whisper
Surround my thoughts of lust & sin
A dream state I relish to linger
Shivers overtaking my skin
Desire of lips tenderly touching
Hands passionately holding
A sweet embrace quietly waiting
Patience Painfully persisting…
So close, yet away from my reach
I will be waiting for all seasons passing
Shall life be kind to grant me my wish
I vow to give you my heart forever loving
What is meant to be
Will always find its way
So I hope, beg & pray
Fate to bring you to me one day
...I hold you in my heart...
Jul 31, 2012
Jul 31, 2012 at 9:10 AM UTC
*Ladies & Gentlemen, behold!
Listen to the story I have to share.
A fantasy from future.*
Someday in Future
Setting: The underground metro train
Characters: She & me
Me: Now our stop is at the end, darling.
She: I'd just relax until we reach then, dear.
Me: How're you going to do that, standing?
She: I've my personal pillar to hold on to for relaxing, you know - I don't fear...
Me: ...and that is me?
She: Yes & no!
I look clueless and she lets out a laughter barely audible to others in the metro train.
She: You yourself are not the pillar but you've the pillar!
I blush big time and turn tomato-red, her delicately-soft hands come pull my cheeks and by now I am able to duly respond as the man.
Me: Oh I see! So madam is in a good mood to flirt. Good-good, even I was starting to get bored hearing only to the harsh sound of the metro train on the track, let us recollect the previous night.
She: Sure, you bear the onus of starting the account and I'll recount the ending as we reach home.
Me: Alright then, here we go.
Low voices
Me: Darling I started it all,
I came from the showers,
I carried a seductive grin,
As I moved forwards,
You started to fall,
Not caring where you fell towards.
And you fell in my arms,
I held you softly as my baby,
As you're precious to me like one.
I then lifted you in my arms,
You had a soft glowing smile on your lips.
Then I laid you on the bed,
You appeared like Aphrodite.
The white gown was off in a jiffy,
You looked at my towel's knot,
And you undid it the next.
She: As the pillar was unveiled,
I hoisted myself on it,
And we came together.
Me: Now the station seems closer, let us conclude our recounting Friday night. (Looking at my watch)
She: Yes, we have a night every other night. (Winks)
Me: I love you, honey! (I smile)
She: Not more than me! (Her smile is more brilliant)
By now the train approaches our stop and we are smiling as we dismount the train.
On our minds for a sleepless Saturday night we are hatching a beautiful plan.
Jul 8, 2013
Jul 8, 2013 at 2:16 AM UTC
Wondering what I should write
and floundering in my own confusion
I thought – why not write about poems
that set me thinking what poems are
A poem could be anything.......!
at best, distilled thoughts put into rhyme
or a moment caught in time
a window glimpse into the world
an engrossing passion’s ardent curl
a snap shot of scenes from Nature- wild
or a slice of life, birth or death
sometimes it could be a yearning
or an image long hung on a pole
a thought turned inside out
or the emptying of a mind about to spill
it could be the liberation of a fancy,
for long held in thralldom
a gnawing pain, long suppressed
or a secret, never divulged
As I pondered over the subjects’ enormity
and a poem’s vast scope,
I asked myself- ‘Why hesitate?’
soon I felt a stir inside,
my thoughts broke loose
a terrible block lifted off my head
my silence became audible
I embroidered these thoughts
into the pattern of a poem
Here it is before you, have a look at it
Will it annoy you or will you enjoy!
May 5, 2017
May 5, 2017 at 8:20 AM UTC
If Thoughts Were Audible,
Would you try to catch & make
Every fluttering thought your Bible,
In your craving
To come face to face
With that one thought
Which would have the answer
To what is the question,
That has gnawed at you since birth.
What if you bumped against
Hitherto infrasonic tremors
Of a morbid sigh or curse,
While hoping to tune into
A blessing or yearning,
Would you consider yourself
The ****** of the Panopticon
Or a prisoner of it?
Would the nail-biting curiosity
Of groping the trail
Of fragmented thoughts
From all (how many?) corners
Make you lose your own 'stream of consciousness',
as they would call it?
Deaf now to your own mental utterances
Would you (n)ever speak again?
[Since,
Your eavesdropping mind
Would already know
What the other has to say
As would he, about your thoughts
Before either uttered the first syllable.]
Or,
Would you start thinking
About what to think first
And what order to place those thoughts in, next,
So you could fool your mental trespasser,
Sending him off to a parallel trail of thoughts?
But of course he would be able to
Hear through your strategy
As he would also know
Of that moment
When you decided to
Guard your own thoughts.
But the question is,
Do you have any left, now?
A numb stare is reflected
In your mental neighbour's eyes
As you both confront
The fact that
*Deaf people don't have
Songs stuck in their head.*
Sep 16, 2014
Sep 16, 2014 at 12:59 PM UTC
Quake before your ruler if only for an hour!
He rules your mind with the echoes of this audible power!
Praise him like you would the faith of your mind,
But the faith of your body and soul shall be aligned!
Praise the bass-line as the endocrines race.
The drugs in her pocket with ***** you'll chase.
**** our futures!
We're young!
We'll rave til the sun!
Our happiness this moment won't relay the deeds done!"
They won't rant while they rage,
Like humans trapped in their cage.
The animals are free 'til they sleep in their grave!
Abandon your god and pray to the rave!
Dec 12, 2013
Dec 12, 2013 at 8:53 AM UTC
with every click of Their tongues,
i am acquiescent.
Their words fill my lungs,
audible discontent.
i swallow Their disgust,
mostly misinterpreted,
i nonchalantly combust,
now i am free.
Aug 23, 2018
Aug 23, 2018 at 10:30 AM UTC
Good morning is what I say
when I reach my office at night.
All my friends and colleagues
look cool and bright.
Till 2 o'clock there is
work, gossip and fun.
After 2, the clock stops
and everyone peeps out for sun.
Bright shining faces
now changes to dull.
Changing environment
makes many lull.
My fatigued eyelids
becomes so heavy.
Now computer appears boring to me,
a computer savvy.
My sleep becomes wild
and starts playing game.
All my efforts with my
sleep goes in vain.
sleep wins the game,
I start my journey from hell to heaven
But a ghost interrupts my journey
with a shout all of a sudden.
I open my eyes to see my TL
who appears so cruel.
It seems he is going to burn me
with fire and fuel.
I put down my head in shame
and wondered why it happened to me.
I remembered, I used to laugh
at a bird who was wild and free.
I was sure it was
the curse of an owl.
It was result of my deeds
now I cannot cry foul.
After sometime sleep decides to play
with TL the same old game.
The result was no different
it was known and same.
My TL falls asleep while
browsing some computer files.
All around the floor
there were giggles and smiles.
All of a sudden he wakes up
as if he has seen some ugly ghost.
In dream TL's boss must have offered
him cockroach sauce and toast.
TL saw my smiles and his glasses
couldn't hide his murderous glares.
He looked at me as if I was a cactus
and made me sit upstairs
I was very careful because
very close TL's boss used to sit
He was a man who never smiled
and was very strict.
A young girl sitting beside me
had frog like bulging eyes
She was very quiet,
looking tired, dull and shy.
Poor innocent girl
repeated the same old mistake
Sleep tricked her,
she couldn't keep herself awake
Next moment there were
scoldings and shouts.
Hapless girl stood stunned
hearing boss's spouts.
If Allah Almighty can listen
to prayers of a bird
Prayers of an anguished heart
is sure to be heard.
Cunning sleep walked
knavishly on the floor.
All around the floor was
audible boss's noisy snores.
Entire floor stood up
to look at him with surprise
He woke-up abruptly
looking around with disgraceful eyes.
The shame was too much
for him to ignore or digest.
Hurriedly he took the keys
of his maroon car and left.
Nov 30, 2014
Nov 30, 2014 at 5:52 AM UTC