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 Oct 2016 Mihir Kulkarni
Bob B
"I read it on the Internet
So it must be true.
There it was in black and white,
With colored photos, too.

"Question what I read? Why?
That's customary?
It was on the Internet!
That's not necessary.

"No, the writer doesn't matter.
What credibility?
The article was written with
Impeccable facility.

"Of course it confirms what I think.
Thus, it was worth reading.
Words to the contrary
Wouldn't be worth heeding.

"Did it open up my mind?
Please, don't make me laugh.
'Open minds are dangerous!'
Should be my epitaph.

"A challenge? Ah, who needs that.
I would rather be
Nestled in my notions
And my complacency."

- by Bob B
I heard a man putting ladders up outside
Probably to clean the gutters
He suddenly appeared at my window
"Hello" he said
"I'm Father Christmas
I'm just practising"
A True Story ...... This actually happened one day at my window.  I thought it was funny.
 Oct 2016 Mihir Kulkarni
Bob B
Fleeting time:
Just try to contain it;
Try to grasp it,
Hold it, regain it.
 
Time evades us
Like liquid through a sieve.
Our best option
Is to LIVE and LET LIVE.
 
To appreciate the moment:
Make that your VOW.
Bask in the light
Of the eternal NOW.

- by Bob B
This moment only

No preparation
Mayday, my ship is slowly sinking.
Crushed and then consumed by these merciless waters called your lies.
Your apologies came in like the Kraken, destroying every evidence of life.
But I was safe inside my cabin because you know;
the captain is supposed to go down with the ship.
And so I did.
Now I am just a skeleton with pointless memories,
resting at the obscure ocean bottom with my shipwreck.
what if there is no backdrop
i mean it could all be the central story, right?
i've called weaker plotlines boring and stronger ones interesting
and now when i see the story stretched out
not only over the course of my life
but through the tapered and weaving lives
of circles and slopes
of color and dreary bland borders

i see

i am compelled

it fills me

i was an artist
you were perfect
now I'm a worker
and you're confused
and the mess is better than any straight line ever drawn

we write and dance,
we share so selfishly,
like everything is ours to give
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