Categories
poems

Wishful Thinking

The Question

Consider the following limerick. By using a minimum of 6 and a maximum of 12 more stanzas, complete the story. Follow the rhyme scheme of a-a-b-b-a in all your stanzas.

I wish my wife were dead,
Or I can have her smashed in the head.
I hire a man,
And tell him my plan,
But he elopes with her instead

My answer

*1*

I laugh at Ho, the fool of a man.
(May they go, as far as they can)
I celebrate
And wake up till late.
And drink and relax under the fan.

*2*

The phone rings and I pick it up.
A lady asks, ‘John?’. I say ‘yup’.
‘A million I’ll pay
‘For the golden tray’.
As she tells this, I just give up.

*3*

‘The golden tray, is with me no more.
‘But listen mam, I’ll find it for sure.
‘Give me a day,
‘I’ll get you the tray’.
She hangs up, I rush out the door.

*4*

I know that, the tray is with her.
Bitch of a wife, she’s too clever.
I’m on the street,
And a guy I meet
Who comes and asks, ‘may I help you sir?’

*5*

I show him, a snap of my wife.
‘She is Jill, the love of my life.
‘We had a fight
‘The previous night.
‘And she left me, hurt by the strife’

*6*

‘Have you seen her? Oh tell me please’.
‘I saw her with a Chinese’.
(That must be Ho!)
‘Where did they go?’
‘To the south, from where comes the breeze.’

*7*

I rush to the south, in their search.
There they are, entering a church.
‘I’ll get the tray
‘I shouldn’t delay.’
I make my move, towards them I lurch.

*8*

As I reach them, I kick Ho hard.
‘You cheated me you bastard.
‘I hired you to kill.
‘You eloped with Jill.
‘I’ll bury you alive, in my backyard’.

*9*

I turn to Jill, she is scared a bit.
‘My golden tray, bitch where is it?’
‘You came all the way
‘Just for the tray?’
About the million, I then admit.

*10*

‘You are such a dumb, hubby couldn’t you guess?
‘A million for a tray is pure madness!
‘Some secret for sure
‘I can assure
‘The old golden tray does possess.’

*11*

‘Oh baby you are right’, I agree.
‘The tray is a lock, let’s find its key.
‘Forget the past,
‘Come hug me fast.
‘Together we shall live, just you and me.’

*12*

The secret they never stumbled upon,
But they lived with love, dear Jill and John.
No call came again.
Ho left for Spain.
And life went on, and on and on…

Categories
poems

Does it matter?

I recieved an e-mail today and found it interesting enough to be posted here. Here it goes:

From: “itdes not matter” matteritdoesnot [at] yahoo dot co dot in

hi

saw ur blog i am sending u this poem if u like it , u can put it up in ur blog, u can use it as ur own.
thanking u
bye

Categories
poems

The Ganglion

did you say:
dont know what is it?
a ganglion of course
isn’t famous a bit

it is a disease
that can do no harm
a ganglion is nothing
it got no charm

you see a hill
under your skin
its so small and yet
you lose your grin

as the doctor sees
the mistry he solves
“its a ganglion
on its own it dissolves”

you wait desperately
for the hill to vanish
that happen soon
you always wish

you look at your wrist
where it lies
the hill, the ganglion
not at all nice

one half of a TT ball
put inside your skin
thats the ganglion
a stupid bulge therein

as the days pass
the bulge only grows
you get worried
on your face it shows

you bang at his door.
the docotor says: “hi,
if it doesn’t leave
lets kick it high”

he uses the syringes
does this, does that
and the ganglion is gone
the hill turns flat

the unwanted guests
who keep coming on
you have faced often
aren’t they ganglions?

no doctor can help
all you do is wait
a ganglion is better

you can at least operate

Categories
poems

A part of a process

A part of a process,
don’t know much about.
But I’m only a part,
I have no doubt.

And then I ask:
what is this process?
Why does it exist;
has it any causes?

I keep on thinking…
without any clue.
They keep coming
like bolts out of blue.

They are the questions
that catch me offguard
and force me to think;
they hit so hard!

Visions get blurred;
answers never found.
Ideas and speculations
fill up the background.

The reason of my life,
I try hard to see.
But the space’s so hazy,
so dirty, soily and greasy.

Will I ever play a part?
Small or big, isn’t trivial.
What is it- matters.
Need an answer, that’s real.

I need to know, who I am.
And what am I doing..
Why am I living?
Where am I going…

So many things..
They are spread around.
What’s meant for me-
can that be found?

Or shall I believe,
this world is mine?
There’s a process and a part;
where lies the line?

I’ll die one day….
This life I shall leave.
I’ll quit this process.
Some men might grieve.

The process wont stop.
My part’ll sure end..
Why’s this process needed?
As its part why are we sent?

Who did program?
Programmed me and the rest;
who know to survive,
who run and who rest.

Who breathe unaware
and never realize,
they are just slaves.
They live with lies!

These slaves of the world
shall some day be packed.
Their part will be over,
& then, they’ll be sacked.

They are needed for
the process, and so am I.
What if I refuse?
What if I wanna die?

That will be a flaw;
a flaw in the code
that makes me live
and follow all, on the road.

Such flaws we have seen
and named them suicide.
The process still works,
life exists with pride.

And I lie down here,
still unaware….
What am I doing?
Why am I here…..

Categories
poems

Getting back to myself ..

Getting back to myself
Is what I’m doing
Yes getting back to myself
All the time
At least I’m trying
Getting back to myself
All the time….

The days come
Come to me like pigeons
They keep on flying
Flying all the time
And I see you every day
Think about you
Yeah that’s you in my mind
Nothing great I can do
Man I am getting blind
But still trying
Trying hard to get back to myself
And trying that all the time

Categories
poems

professor, professor

Professor, Professor,
why don’t you teach?
All that you blabber,
is out of our reach.

Blabber you do;
and you give us pain.
When in your class
nothing we gain.

Simplest of things
look so complex;
courtsey to you!
You come to perplex.

There was a time;
on bed, we’d sleep.
Now in your class
we can sleep, real deep.

In your lectues
no joy we find.
Leave us dear prof.
We won’t ever mind.

listen this on : http://www.soundclick.us/fastk6/10/01/freemp3/melodiacs+professorenglishpop.mp3

Categories
poems

it is my life

It’s like the sea
The dreadful sea
It is my life
why can’t u see

It roars and it cries
It always tries
It is my life
It’s in disguise

At times it is calm
So smooth, so calm
It is my life
It spells its charm

And then it roars
With all its force
It is my life
It’s mine of course

It’s like the sea
The dreadful sea
It is my life
why can’t you see