Monday, September 28, 2009

Rhymes of old.

Anonymous him (Himanshu Mhatre) said...

For long he calls himself a creep,
And in the shadows of the moon he is found asleep.

And when he does not tend to his freaks,
He adorns the cloak of the geeks.

In the faint trail of smoke that leaves his breath,
Speaks of he of lost love and death.

But with all due respects 'onorable sire,
Your condition is far away from dire.

11:52 PM, March 26, 2006

Blogger quasi said...

they call me bad
they call me mad
then they call me a freak
and then a geek

I dont even know
what I seek
(and for that matter)
what I speak

stink of smoke
and of beer I reek
am the old poke
with all the cheek

there is method in the madness
(mind you)
and rhyme in the sadness
(find you)

But to this I will agree
O great One so free,
my condition is indeed far from dire
am just waiting for some baby to light my fire !!


1:15 AM, March 27, 2006

Anonymous him (Himanshu Mhatre) said...

And together we all burst hehehe,
but underneath the laughter you hear the wind say.
Its time my lad to move on, to make a new way,
For forever, these clouds of darkness cannot stay.

And like all other clouds they aren't our resident way,
And from turf to turf they will have to sway.
And it is time for our laughter to have its way,
as with its tremors the clouds burst, giving way to a brand new day.

6:27 PM, March 27, 2006

Seen in the comments on an entry posted by quasi at 23:12 on 24-Mar-2006


Nikhil said...

Hmm.. nice.

Vivek Rao said...

Q, i like ur poem the best...