White Striped Pyjamas

Sticky with sweat
all around this life.

White striped pyjamas
my only solace.

They are loose
comfortable and easy
to wear.

Can tighten them
around the waist,
and slip into them
in a haste.

It has a drawstring,
feels like a tight rope of hope
yet slippery
and may choke.

It keeps life simple.
Devoid of creases
if well kept
and it may itch
when not washed.

I keep them safe
down my wardrobe,
when in need
I look at them
and heed.

I hate to borrow
or lend my pair of pyjamas.

Bed time, lifetime
Be it anytime
you need a pair of these
to remind you of ease.

Copyright © 01 Apr 2011, by Abhilash Hegde
All Rights Reserved

An ode to her

In the echoes
of her silvery chiseled anklets
I heard the sweet silence
speak a thousand words.

In the deep red glow
of her little velvety cupped lips
I knelt down to take a dip
in its sea of undying shyness.

In the arresting stings
of her flaming golden eyes
I saw the heavens rise
in frenzy flares to touch her feet.

In the shivering chills
of her mellowing creamy skin
I sensed the jarring heaviness
take me over unto a bliss.

Copyright © 06 Nov 2007, by Abhilash Hegde
All Rights Reserved

Shreds

The barren winds
blow across
my healed scars,
tying a knot
of unbearable sighs.

The fleeting questions
that I hide
in my bare bosom
lynches me
in veins of pain.

Do You hear me, O' Lord?

The frail life
that defeats the barriers
through silent struggles
have lost the strength
and the words have dried
in your prayers.

I'm a past of You
with a beacon
of ensnared prophecies.

Do You heed them, O' Lord?

The wheels of time
sewed up the ailing moans,
but the soul immersed
in piousness
died at the mercy
of penance.

I ask,
Why doth You
turn a blind eye
when I need thy
vision to see the Sun.

I'm a gossamer
glossed in your schemes,
Now torn up into
sheer shreds, sheer shreds...

Copyright © 18 Aug 2008, by Abhilash Hegde
All Rights Reserved

Matchstick

I
talk of a Matchstick
that lent fire
to my candle.

It had a
fierce head
of gunpowder
with a slender tail
of ageing wood.

It pondered
all while
and wished
for a name.

It dreamt
all long
and desired
to taste fame.

And,
one fine day

I
came along
and set It
on flames
to light
my candle.

Wax dripped
as the candle blazed.
And, the Matchstick,
through It's Last Rites,
still burnt all in glow
for It's pride.

I
held It's ash
in bare hands
and smelled
It's sacrifice.

It had
brought light
to my world
and had
given life
to my candle.

It had held
It's head high
to burn in spurt
for a name,
and to douse out
with a sparkle
to taste the fame.

Copyright © 11 Oct 2007, by Abhilash Hegde
All Rights Reserved

Colors; A veil

I of my
color, when
pared down
Would be
A blank negative,
Like a mirage
That flared
An Oasis
of barren sands.

Copyright © 18 July 2007, by Abhilash Hegde
All Rights Reserved

Pegs And Mugs

Gabbled I,
In a grin with the mug.
Serve me a peg, nomore
As I swore not anymore...

Waiter at the Inn,
Rolled in a keg of Gin.
Gabbled I again,
Ye, You hairy pug,
Where's my mug?

Dressed in the red tee,
The white turky He
Swore and smirked in glee.
Sir, "Would you like it in shots?"
And I swinged my head, hearing it lots...

Come again,I said in rush.
In a habitual tone of a lush.
I swore again,
Serve me a peg, nomore
As my tongues sore
And I smelled more...

Drops made their way
Into my mug in spree.
And I gulped it,yee...

I was high and sloshed,
Eyes brimmed and dimmed.
I held the mug in hand.
And Surveyed a quick glance to find
A gorgeous lady in pink
With her eyes fixed on my drink.

I offered my drink
And Obliged she in wink
To dance and tink.
Humming and strumming
We did a Salsa and a Tango,
Oops! Like the numbered balls in Bingo,
There I Tripped and rolled.
And crashed at the bosom
Of the woman next to the pole.

Dead meat was I
With black and blue eyes.
Tie hanging by the neck.
Hairs dangling to the drums at deck.
Ears jarring to the whips of metal.
Garbs tattered and gibed in brittle.
Hands and legs feeling the lash of the kettle,
I groped for my table to settle.

Gabbled again I,
In a fret with the mug.
Serve me a peg, nomore
As I swore not anymore...

Copyright © 17 April 2007, by Abhilash Hegde
All Rights Reserved

If I were...

If I were to be a Teacher
I could skip homework
And play with the cane.

If I were to be a Doctor
I could scribble
And accept fat paychecks.

If I were to be a Banker
I didn't have to learn science
To make money.

If I were to be a Lawyer
I could always lie
And get away.

If I were to be an Architect
I would have drawn
My luxuries with
Pencil,paper and scale.

If I were to be a Bartender
I needn't pay for
The silly drink.

If I were to be an Archeologist
I would have been rich
Digging up my past.

If I were to be an Engineer
I would have turned
Math into material
And material into Money.

But I'm a Poet.
I write,write and write,
Until I feel
The pulse of thoughts.

God am I displaced?

Copyright © 14 July 2007, by Abhilash Hegde
All Rights Reserved