An unfinished song.

You had a copy of the book you bought

Was to show the taste you sought

As you queued up next to me on the aisle

Was a long time ago that you thought

I was wise for the lies you wrote

I fell for them, swam into your isle.

Then it takes a while to rationalise

Learn the hands turn anti-clockwise

Seen from the other side of the dial.

So depending on where you stand,

You get clockwork or you get orange

Get tortured by Beethoven, meanwhile.

Here we go once again, play it out

Use up one more benefit of doubt

Declare love from starbirth to supernova

Don’t Freud our childhood, let us out

It’s not the past it’s been about

Wasn’t me who whispered Naro-Kunjrova.

When I say you, I don’t address you alone

We’ve all desired, for which we atone

Didn’t Cohen apologise to Eunice D’Souza?

What’s poetry but perspective, and yet

Can’t really be mature till it rhymes at

A a b b, a b a b, abc and blah-blah-bova.

Sound proof

She married a man who forwards his mail
For good luck, and plays Voodoo
He’s queened the pawn while you’re still rooking

Vagueness gives a chance to move
But they have found a way to prove
That the world exists even when nobody’s looking

A motherless child taught me to
Live without the fear of loss through
The empty space, as you go Peter Brooking

I’ve lost many a sisters to distance
And I lost my thesis against a haiku
So I construe I shouldn’t have been snoozing

I’ve lost enlightenment to virtue
Well, who told you it was ever true
That somebody wins when somebody’s losing?