oh he loved his bike.

He stared at it through the display window,
With a fine-line body of steel,
It was quite a show.

Like a royal blue flying machine,
It promised a ride, a rhythm divine.
The bike had taken his breath away,
He could have vowed, he’d never felt that way.

Love at first sight, he thought,
Is this what it’d feel like?
It’s meant to be mine,
Fine lines n all, he loved the bike.

Racing the wind he rode it like a king,
So loud and clear,
He had never heard himself sing.

He handled it with care,
He had found his happy place,
The bike would help him share
his thoughts, with it, he found solace.

He would ride and talk to it,
And thought he found a friend,
In all its silence, the bike,
Assured, there wasn’t a problem he couldn’t mend.

So one day with a mess on his mind,
He rode it one more time,
With questions and an answer to find.

A little girl running after her dog,
He hit the break, but didn’t get out of the shock.
He tried hard to save his bike,
But he fell and knew what total silence was like.
Fine lines n all, he loved the bike.

The bike looked lonely, as it stood there,
Without a scratch, with its master gone and no one to care.
His friends would remember how happy he’d been,
His bike and he, the best pair they’d seen.
They would never forget what their friend was like,
Fine lines n all, he loved his bike.

It was up for sale one more time,
It promised a ride, a rhythm divine.
Love at first sight, the boy thought,
Is this what it would feel like?
It’s meant to be mine he thought,
Fine lines n all, he had loved the bike.

There are just some days..

I used to love to write. I still do. If its my diary, I can go on for ages.. if I am writing a letter, I can very well ‘ ramble on to 18 pages. Front and back’
But this just feels strange. Writing on the net. I deleted many a post, thinking, it didn’t look right on the screen… well..

So I am attempting to write one more time.

I remember this day very clearly, an ordinary one. Cloudy mornings are my least favourite. The sun gone, the breeze with a nice autumn touch, in a rainy season felt like a bonus of sorts. But something was different bout this day. Nostalgic. Something that made me gloomier than ever.

I have never tried writing a poem. It’s not a natural talent. But the air was heavy, so was my heart. And trust me, if you are gloomy all day, by evening, it can be very very tough. So I decided, I should divert my energy and my head to do some constructive work. Well.. After an hour of laborious word hunting and brain scratching, a weird rhyming scheme, thousand times of ‘so are u really feeling that way’ I did it. I wrote the first poem of my life. Best of luck.



No title.

There are just some days,
No purpose of their own,
Go by quietly, no hint,
No rhythm, no goal.

No hint of sunshine,
The sky pours down, dull and gray,
Filling my heart with emotion,
A longing for a moment,
A memory of a glorious day.

No rhythm, to the routine,
The rain dances off beat,
My heart skips one though,
Its magic.. the thought of you,
Coffee, a book and a picturesque window seat.

The rain’s gone, the coffee finished,
The book’s done too,
Its all quiet now,
The window dark, my mind still lost,
And I’m still thinking of you.

A ring breaks the silence,
Its you on the line,
It’s weird you chose today to call
Just thinking of you,
The day had been fine.

I wonder if you will ever know,
That call had set me free
It made me wonder even more,
If it had rained there too,
And made you think of me.