Red

How good were those times when we were stupid,

Those nights when we were intoxicated by Cupid,
One who calms down the fluttering morning dove,
One who kindles and elicits the feeling called love.

Cupid loved youth and spent time working on me,
Sending me into impromptu poetry with a glee.
Ahh, the good old days when he rekindled the fire,
Kept me warm throughout the day using his lyre.

The cold wind of adulthood tickled the flames,
Cupid had gone off to places with no names.
The fire was put out and white smoke ensued,
It died in the rain of instincts, primal and lewd.

Time passed by,
Ashes flew by,
Seasons of lust,
Memories’ dust.

A calm cold night under a clear sky, 
Amidst darkness that made light shy,
In the long lost ashes by the riverbed,
There was a faint glow in a tinge of red.

Men at the bar

A man’s strength is judged by his arm,
Stereotypical adherence is his charm,
Toxic are the leaders of the next gen,
Submissiveness conforms gentlemen.

We systematically strip him of emotions,
Softly materialize him in Greek notations,
We cast him away if he’s meek and mild,
And also complain if he starts being wild.

Every such man is never touched typically,
Physically, mentally and metaphorically.
Such lack of empathy moulds men today,
Enforcing them to keep their feelings at bay.

Such men resort to cheap thrills for recluse,
Feeding bodies on drugs their bodies refuse,
Wishing luck on bets crafted to make them lose,
Wasting able youth on marked up cruise and booze.

Goated is that man who can like a flower,
Greater is one who grows to be a gentle lover.
Nietzsche’s Superhuman is not a debacle,
It is him who breaks stereotypical shackle.

Hail!!! Men, who eternally loved this command,
Come, break that band, let us all rebrand,
The choice of who and how a man wants to be,
Let it be his choice, let him choose wild and free.

Senses

Moved to the city in my early teens,
Studying to fulfill middle class dreams.
Days passed by without seeing sun,
An oven called coaching, I was a bun.

The only respite were those Sundays,
Ah, those Sundays and the sun rays,
Cycle to coaching, that dreaded test,
And then those breakfasts, the best.

One good long bath, ample time to wash,
One day to read news, ogle the Panache.
Crosswords and sudokus, the nerdy joys,
And then that smell, the one to rejoice.

I knew many a heavenly distinct smells ,
Petrol, petrichor, ocean in the seashells.
Tobacco factory and bakery next door,
But none carried a comfort that this bore.

It was the smell of boiling white rice,
Nothing fancy, it must’ve been just nice.
The smell of that only hot relaxed meal,
The whole week’s tiredness would heal.

That is how I started eating beyond it,
The limit that decides if I would be fit.
From one meal in a week to every snack,
I lost the naturally controlled eating knack.

Then I acquired layers around my tummy,
lost my health to foods that were yummy,
Went from a boy that swung in the breeze,
To the man in the mirror, oh he’s obese.

That wild instinct driving my appetite
is a different expression of lust,
It procreates life when done right,
And when wrong, reduces us to dust.

That heavenly feeling olfactory sense,
is a different expression of love,
The one without definitive presence,
It stays forever but it lasts now.

To be able to smell, to be in romance,
to learn to embrace and enjoy that trance,
To be able to not touch and taste,
To not kill that innocent feeling in haste,
Is the lesson we have to learn!!!
WE ALL HAVE TO LEARN!!!

Why am I even writing this?

I tried writing a piece or two in the recent times,

Let me be honest and true, to not forget rhymes.
As was the practice when I first started writing,
I kept a brief note of things I felt might be exciting.

I wanted to write yet one more version of suicide,
But I slept through the process as I was too tired.
I started writing about the unfairness at workplace,
And I gave up half way because it didn't have that grace.

I wrote two stanzas on the silent problems in a man's life,
I quit because I didn't want to glorify my own strife.
I thought of writing diss verses on the hypocrites,
But decided against it to not waste my precious nights.

Thus the course of this art had been taking turns,
Surely there had been issues for which my heart burns,
And there's a lot of vocabulary my mind churns,
But I'd keep these half-burnt poems' funerary urns.

What shall I write about when I don't feel inspired,
if not this piece of idiocy that had here transpired.

మనసా పద

సూర్యుడే నిశిలో రాలిపోని, కరుణను భావమే అంతమవనీ

చెడుకే బలగము తోడ్పడని, మనుషులు బంధమే మరచిపోనీ,

బాధే మనసుని తొలిచేయని, నీ ప్రేమే గెలుచునులే.......

మనసా ఇక, పరుగాగక, నను చేరుకో, ఈ దరికి రా, ప్రేమే ఎన్నడూ ఓడదులే

చరణం 1 : 

ఇరువురి స్థితి గతి వేరవని, మన ప్రేమల గురుతులు మసకవనీ,

ఋతువుల గుణములు తడబడనీ, పిల్లలు పువ్వులు బోసిపొనీ,

ప్రకృతి సర్వము మారిపోనీ, మన ప్రేమే మారదులే..........

చరణం 2 :

భయపడకు, బెదురిడకు, నిను వీడి పోవును వేదనే,

తగు సమయం, నీ సమరం, తల వంచును ఈ విశ్వం.

మది ఖననం, మరు జననం, ఇక అంతము లేనిది ప్రేమయే,

ఇది నిజమే, ఇక ఉండదు కన్నీరే.....