Winters

You sleep in night in a blanket curled,
And wake up in the morn’,
And when everything is wet and pearled,
You know it’s the winter horn.

The thought of shower chills the soul,
And sun sure makes one gay,
L’il beasts seek a cosy hole,
And the world changes its way.

The air is so crisp and clean,
And the morning has a golden hue
The flora has that shade of green,
That looks too green to be true.

My Evenings

One fine evening when the sun was low,
Few more hours and the night would grow,
I took leave from the hassles of the day,
All I Could think was the late night show.

Another evening when the sun was to set,
Holding my mind were fumes and fret,
I couldn't think of anything else,
But a burning guilt and deep regret.

Yet one eve' saw a melting sun,
Sanguine was I for the job was done,
I could feel nothing but myself,
Neither longed for thoughts nor for fun,

Amazing how as the time flies by,
So many thoughts take birth and die,
Just as the shapes of the cotton clouds,
In a lucid morning sky.

Indian Coffee House

Cained chairs and tables of teek,
A dusty carpet frayed but thick,

A buzz of chatter debates and jokes,
little fountains of cigarette smokes,

Where young and old all are gay,
An apposite place to charge your grey,

Where the flow of thoughts sees no bound,
And the state of mind is sane and sound,

Where reckless is the creative elf,
And you get to know your real self,

Swift and agile holding a tray,
The white goblins make their way,

Where the time's still and the mind's on the move
Where stuck up thoughts come out of the groove,

There in a corner are a cat and a mouse,
That's the place, Indian Coffee House.

India vs Pakistan final T20 World Cup

Today there'll be no ifs and no buts,
We gonna make it 'coz we've got the guts,
We bat as the God himself would do,
You saw we thrashed the Kangaroo,
We bowl with a fire in the arm,
And every ball is but an alarm,
We stump like a lightening struck,
And many we've sent in on a duck,
We field with agility of a hart,
And what you've seen is just a start,
Today's the turn of the Green Eleven,
To plead for mercy to the all Blue heaven....

One Fine Evening

As I sit in my balcony in an evening of late October, with the radio station playing the sort of songs that remind one of the gone by phases of life and also make one think of the phases yet to come, I call it a near perfect evening if not perfect. The air is neither crisp nor clean, but still its ethereal with a tinge of coolness in it. And overlooking my balcony is a giant geographic bulge contrasting the numerous modern high rise buildings, as if the nature is trying to make its presence felt among the paraphernalia of the modern human establishment.
Then there is a very typical acoustic effect by a medley of sounds emanating from diverse sources. The sound of the traffic is the one that catches ear the most. The revving of the sophisticated engine of some luxury car and also the raucous sound of a thirty year old scooter, then there are pleasant screaming sounds of kids mixed with shouting of their mothers. And at last there are intermittent sounds of some dog being kicked out of some shop.
The entire milieu is enough to strike the right chord in someone who is as nostalgia freak as myself. The moment I bump into such a setting, I stop moving ahead at once and rather enter into a blissful retrospection, where I can recollect all that is recollectable at this stage. Sometimes the feelings are so strong that I can visualize the events of yesteryears in my minds eye and in the process I would smile and chuckle. And this sometimes happens to the utter astonishment of a seemingly unaware observer, as the person in the adjacent balcony.