The Friend and the Lover..

The friend and the lover are many miles away,So, to an Amy Winehouse tribute, I sway. 

In old friends and stories of the past, I find jest,

But in their present and its stories I’m just a guest. 
The late night Bangalore breeze sweeps across my face, 

Memories threaten me like poison but I face them with grace,

In their entirety they remind me of times spent finding a solution,

To the many puzzles thrown at me and that one tough question.
Is there an easy way out of all this muck and confusion,

In a way that I’m a survivor, proud and free, and not just a pale intrusion,

Into the lives of the many I believe I have touched,

Or maybe those that I have imagined and whose happy memories I have fudged.
There is a silver lining, rainbow or revival thrown in somewhere here, 

In the rock solid friend with his colourful beliefs who lives near, 

Or the brave and beautiful girl whose love I may lose, I fear,

Or maybe it’s just in me, broken and tattered, deep down, waiting for one last cheer. 

The 3 year itch

He sat with his homework holding back his breath,

Dad walked in with the letter and that look of death,

The room felt empty and sullen,

Dad cracked up, it was a joke, they were moving. ‘Let’s get packin’! 

Days turned into years and years into today,

The thought of moving still steered his mind astray,

There wasn’t a time he knew to be permanent and true,

In this strange reality, his mind and reality grew.

Friends, love and time would ask him to stay,

But every three years, a part of him, would begin to flay,

He would fight it and beg for stability,

But his mind and heart, defiantly, refused this insanity. 

He was a boy of dreams and wonder,

To which he did often surrender,

And when the mind finally grew restless and tired of this fight,

He would put his hands up and quietly disappear into the night.