Skip to main content

Monsoon Moods

 

Bhopal’s skies crack open wide,
Lake’s waters surge like an ocean tide.
The Upper Lake flows, bold and proud,
City’s heart beating, strong and loud.

Hawkers pause, eyes gleam in awe,
This watery wonder, the city's charm.
Nature lush with life, in green hues so deep,
Glistening leaves in the raindrop sweep.

Indian Cuckoo calls, Pitta prances,
Both catching tunes, as monsoon dances.

Hot chai’s brewed, pakoras stacked high,
Mirchi, Aloo, Pyaaz—all tempt the eye.
Each snack speaks, its own Andaaz,
Crunchy bites met with stormy applause.

Kids jump puddles, young hearts swoon,
Girls spin dreams to the monsoon tune.
For rain doesn’t just feed earth alone,
It seeps through hearts and lifts the soul’s tone.

Comments

Popular Posts

My Tips Get The Job Done

  Boy, you need gold coins and chains, To feel that silky touch. Honey, being with you meant My soul needed a retouch... You might like maple syrup, But I could never build anything with that softwood. It was like babysitting way into my adulthood... You think your presence made it feel like Niagara? Boy, it was drier than the Sahara. Who gave you the license to operate heavy machinery? You never deserved to be anywhere near this sanctuary. Asking women to "blow" you a kiss, When you are the one too "slow" to catch up, And all you are good for is a diss... You need to work because you don't know how real FORCE  works. You get high on your stupid   WARS — How would you ever know the language of the STARS ? Isn't it funny you were trying to teach  me  about fingers? When I can get myself to sing more with my  ladyfingers ...

Game Of Fire and Ice

Hey Mister, Why won't you play a game of Twister? I promise I won't play coy. Won't you love it if I were your only toy? You can be the Lion in the boardroom, Then make me roar in the bedroom. Let's play the game of fire and ice. You bring the sugar, and I get the spice. I am praying by myself these nights, Drowning my moans when the city sleeps tight. We can play the game of Super Sonic, And then have our own race over some gin and tonic. So find me, like an app can find a phone. No, I won't bring out my Medusa and turn you into stone. I have been getting over my fears, Learned to make my tears into spears. You can take me as you like. We can go until we hear the third strike.

Call Your Wife... Call Your Mother...

  Call your wife. Call your mother. Tell them how you talk to women like me when no one's watching— But of course, I'm the Outspoken B tch*, and you, the Outstanding Gentleman in your suit and tie. But sure— I’d rather be outclass than be hung like sea bass on your trophy wall, smiling silent while you call me “crass.” Your twisted kinks. Your polished lies. You think I won’t roar? That I’ll tuck in my shadow just to keep your sin safe? I own my dark. Loud. Proud. You will not cage me with your guilt-laced chains. If you were so happy choosing her over me, Then go flirt with her . Not me. Don’t you dare come here with your diluted apologies and leftover lust. I’d rather be The villain in your story Than your sidepiece in silence. Because I remember— You were a playboy then , You’re still a playboy now , And every time you smile and say “We’re still friends”… God, I puke a little. You know your name. Don’t play lost boy. Don’t hide behind your “Good intentions.” I used to care...