Where Pigeons Play Kho Kho

I watch the 

pigeons play kho kho;

a dreary day, hot,

they face headwinds, life!

I cry, helpless,

where the hell have 

I kept 'em keys 

to the locker?

Yeah, there where 

I've imprisoned my will to run!

Ah, the strides,

towards crashing waves,

always towards home

for a ripe mango,

to the art, words

and all things golden

— from the friendly sunset

to the angry yolk in 

the half-cooked egg,

served with milk, 

on humid Monday mornings

before I rush for fights.

Hardly do I play now,

I stare at open windows,

at the leaves who dance,

young and hearty,

while pigeons play;

yes, I've forgotten kho kho!

Picture courtesy: Sreetama Bagchi (instagram: @sreetamabagchi)

AC/FC: The band!

For once I stayed up;
after all, it was Milan's
honour this day
to host the Band,
but not of the Billboard charts
nor one for grannies or Grammy...

... Still they eased those average teens
from the second third n fourth worlds
to change channels and 
their obsession with
tanned beach babes
and their samba; 
or the dreams of a night out,
dancing to cocaine with a Sabatini,
a tango under the silver moon
by the Rio de la Plata.

Now they all sway to
the smooth flow from a 
Spanish guitar strummed by
a Nou-bred Argentine,
tuned to perfection
in a proud Catalan dream.

3.20 in the morn here,
six hours ahead of
that smile from Xavi,
the Italians mourn;
but the tears thrill 'em all
as the boards sang anthems
in flashy neon:
3-2 it is for Barcelona.

The boys kept their stripes all,
earned a few more,
Milan in Black and Red,
while Green lights adorn
the glittering Palau Blaugrana,
the hues and the many phews!

(Thoughts during the UEFA Champions League classic between AC Milan and FC Barcelona yesterday...)