Looks like you need a drink...
What'll it be, let me think...

One thing you should know, Little Miss,
I'm not a bartender... I'm just winging this...

Hmm...
Arc in a cocktail shaker
Filled halfway up
Throw Melz in the mix
Just a dollop

Let's see now...
Spoonful of rhymes
Make that a table
Few drops of Conor
If he's up and able

Almost ready...
A touch of Tea
Maybe a tad more
A dose of Frank
In a little pour

Just about done...
Cap it up
Shake that shaker
Pour it out
Top with Silver

Ahh...
In a cocktail glass
Now sprinkle with Dani
Let's not stinge
Sprinkle aplenty

There you go, Hon... Take a full swig
When you see the bottom, your pain wouldn't seem so big...

خالي
Like the emptiness of the dessert
That is my حالي

مالني؟
Questioning my decision like a
مدير مالي

اهمالي
And if I run from it, nothing will disappear
It fact it hunts me back like a جني

عادي
Getting used to it like its my profession
And I follow it let it domesticate me like دجن

And so I created my own سجن
ملل bored of myself
I look at you for لهو
Distract me like a filler
Botox me up till I انفجر
Fake it cause ill never make it
Blind sighted like سحر

مرّ
Like the stinge in my cigarette
Like the stinge in my black coffee
Is the crave to be free

تحت جلدي
Is the truth that would punch
Hit, hurt
Get hurt and bleed
Cause from you I dont استفيد

Im leaving this earth lonely
And I dont even know me
Screaming for help
******* انبح صوتي
And everyone knows it lowkey ..

أركض
أركض
Till the last breath.

And this feeling
You will never undress

Pop *****.
Pop smells bad.
Pop stinks actually.
Stinks like
dead.

His stinge is loud,
his thumping smell
reverberating,
turning neighbours' life
into death.

And no one in town
is concerned.

Pop is dead,
Rest In ****,
**** you came from,
**** you believed.

There was a mob of people here
All lined up a few bricks prior to the street light frozen on green
We were all imminent to the sound of a rusty metal bar snapping free of its locks
Our eyes remained open, no one blinked.
There were hard ***** of crusted orange paint illuminating the balding of the center caved as an aging man's youth did,
A slight shine for remembrance,
Its lullaby announcing delivery -
Its old tethered tires barely holding on
Its driver as still as a stoop with patience like a hawk,
Patient and expectant of the whole lot of worth never used to
Fund towards the Lime Green Stinge animalisticly chomping down on a hamburger.
It's an addiction;
An addict who creeps by the window huffing the aroma of freshly cut grass
As do I near a few pounds of regular gasoline but this one,
This is different.
It's bittersweet, spicy, nose wiggling, pocket itching, finger twitching, feet moving, toes curling, heart racing, such an extravagant smell -
There couldn't possibly be any better arousal than this.

i awake upon brewing dawn -
stinge of a last hit waltzes past
my beloveds’ fingertips taunted with ash,
and i succumb to hauntings

how i beckon with lost days
overindulge in spoonfed daggers
my blistered throat parallels zir inflamed ego
suffocated deceptive, guilt - scripted coerced, apologizes
escorted by fault down crimson carpets
what a provocative

refusal of touch names me ****?
but the other femme knows another,
another i know well

the grim reaper looms amidst repressed dusk
i plead for rising moons
i appeal for reassurance
query the harlot?
i mustn’t

ever wonder what the dichotomy of
a private "life"
    and a public personna looks
like,
             while having the "problem"
of having had *** in
a brothel: because of
            the monopoly stinge of anglo
****-**** (as lady gaga whimpers
out the words)...
     and al fresco ***?
               there is a point where
flirtation becomes a manifestation
of sadism:
    on the basis of tempting
with the casual,
               but never having
invested in
                     the long-term...
      then again, i don't mind the latter
scenario being dealt with
   as a solo "adventure":
   it's only the temptation by
an illusion of casual consent
that bothers me,
   as if the too could ever be
                                 translated.

What do you call these
....???
People who officially rob you of your hard earned money. Income tax is first deducted and there after a salary is given to the ordinary working class.
Thereafter, logically the money is yours to spend and save;
but oh  no.... The poor middle class family pays tax.. GST... for every little thing purchased, be they essentials or a small meal at a restaurant.

They stinge and save small amounts to make a FD, even that is taxed. This means the Government is like a leech. The poor man cannot enjoy anything.

The rich MPs and MLAs loot the public and enjoy very many perks. These parasites actually thrive on us. Besides this they have huge assets, land, jewelry, money , what not to last their future generations.

Nothing concrete happens. Roads are bad, water isn't sufficient nor pure. Petrol prices and essential commodities are always on the rise.

Medical care is pathetic. Education in municipal schools is name sake, children often learn foul language.

Where are we going???
Where is the progress???
This is not the Bharat of my dreams.

Wake up, shake up. RISE N SHINE.

Armin Dutia Motashaw

TOUCH

Touch another's heart with words kind;

Words soothing can a torn heart stitch or bind.

Touch  your hand lovingly, to heal someone's pain

Your smile may help someone to remain sane.

A pat small on  the back, can encourage one

With our words encouraging,  shine may someone's Sun.

Stinge do not, to kind be,  it may save a dying man.

Use words n gestures kind v. often; whenever you can.

Armin Dutia Motashaw