Tuesday, April 15, 2014

Home Free!

He measures it all in miles,
the commutes,
the revolts,
the rebukes;
the mad rush
for affinity,
for love,
for creating music
for his muse,
for her amused lips.

A pilgrim now,
he finds his home tiny,
miles become mere metres,
but their smiles are
beyond ’em metres,
or ’em rules, grammar;
for their joy n spree are free, 
like the waves
on a lake infinite

a song in free verse!
Pic by Sreetama Bagchi

Wednesday, April 02, 2014

The Inmate!

There isn’t much
left to munch now.
She cleaned up the
last morsels
of his boyhood,
onto a fresh tissue,
laced it with her breath,
sprayed it with gasoline,
and burnt it in hell.

He has a job now,
they call him a man,
he drives a car;
I call him an inmate.