Just thoughts

I wonder what winter has in store for me Does it have thin sleet, chilly winds, Cracking frost, or maybe, a carpet of snow? Does it have christmas trees, soothing fires or perhaps, cozy hot chocolate? Does it have silent, dark, dreamy, Surreal lovely nights? I sit, writing, and await the first real winter of my life. Tell me, love, will it be what my mind hopes it could be?

Against stupidity, the gods themselves contend in vain. The book is, I daresay, as profound as the quote. Authors come, authors go, but few, I think, can become immortal through their words. And no reader can deny that Asimov is one of those authors. My father, from whom I have inherited this love for reading, now reads little outside his subject area. One of these rare excursions of his back to the world of fiction was Asimov's ‘The Gods Themselves’. The relatively small book has ever since been on his suggestion list to me, ranking up there with epics such as ‘War and Peace’ and ‘Godfather’. Last month I read it. And boy, oh boy, did I love it. Almost everything was perfect with that book. The storyline was awesome. The imagery was so tastefully done <insert italian chef kiss>. The pace of the story was the most unique one I have ever come across. And I noticed no literary devices to make the story sound any more nail biting that it actually is. Yes. None at all. Just the s...

  So many expect; So many hope So many desire and dream, Tomorrow waits, slowly arrives- A ship of marvels agleam. “Everything will get better, all will be good Next morning will be perfectly fine; People will forget all their grudges, And lovely things are just waiting to be mine.” (Future chuckles) Tomorrow‘s not gonna be any better, love. It’ll be the same toil and tire Haters will hate, ventures will fail, And stakes shall soar ever higher Trudging through fabled, magical, wonderful tomorrow, You will groan, heave, cry, sigh, maybe even shatter ’Well, that was one horrible day,’ you will then think, ’But tomorrow, I know, will be “happily ever after”.’ PS. Great ideas strike at midnight. In a half-dazed state of consciousness, works like this one, I think, might be the catharsis of the subconscious, so I have taken care not to alter the contents of the first draft when I upload this poem.

I opened another can of soda one day And you won’t guess what popped out- Dressed in green, yellow, ochre and gray Jumped out a pixie- round and stout I’ve never seen a frickin’ pixie before, Much less one that is obese But tell me- which pixie lineage from days of yore Could have been obsessed with Mac & Cheese? But this one was, somehow, and so she dove Right into my delicious supper With passion, zeal and gluttonous love She finished it all- that little suker… With the sauce dripping from her spherical body She noticed me- at last- and gave me her hand Her poise was royal, her face all lordy, Aiyoo!- that attitude! I just couldn’t stand! With a cunning smile and and icy heart I backhanded her off the table Destiny has dictated that this is how we part, Dear pixie- beauty of some nightmarish fable The critter wouldn’t give up- she stood up, hurt And saw me with eyes filled with hate I suppose she was gonna apologise, but By now, it was just too late. ...

  A cone of pure energy, glowing like The sun, saunt'ring down the evening sky Suddenly, I was too magnificently stupefied To ask myself how or why. It is just oil vapourising and waltzing With a random oxygen atom But why's the couple draped in lovely orange? My mortal mind just couldn't fathom. I shall always wonder at these puzzling Yet gorgeous beauties of you, mother nature  Like this delightful flame of the earthern lamp Just another one of your alluring features.

I Whither art thou, dear Francolin You were here only a moment ago Pecking blissfully at the ground, walking Calmly…  Gone in a flash! A brown streak of lightning- Cutting through the dry grass of summer Disappeared into the bushes at the fringes Was that you, O lovely francolin?!  But I know you will come back, my dear To peck coolly at the soil I shall wait for you, I swear Don't worry, darling. I won't harm you. But I can't say the same For some of my other Biped brethren… II I have waited for weeks Day morphs into night, night Into day; the serene immutable cycle goes on. The ground is now Cold concrete. The bushes are now Black fences. I wait for days Longing for you, my love But will you ever come back?