Thought Bouquet

The familiar rumble of the rick, amidst the suffocating blanket of dust and the deafening noise of traffic all within a city full of love, and lust. ceaseless mechanical wonder; the local chugging incessantly; an unassuming lifeline the sea of humanity within it; silent, vocal the city of opposites; slums, opulence and spine. As the black, endless sea looks over with a puzzled monotony at the usual maddening crowds and rushing cars a necklace of lights exposing the city's gaiety and agony it retreats unto itself after every night, with smiles, scars. And I cannot but wonder at this maximum city as a migrant, a hater, a lover, a stranger where quenching curiosity is an exercise in futlity for the more I find out, what I know seems lesser!

Let us write a poem No matter how bad Let us create something Nobody ever has had A poem with no real meaning Plenty a message but no story Written while I'm dreaming Of brooks, books and a narrative gory About love, life, politics and war About all things which leave a scar A poem with scarcely a structure Not meant to scale but to ponder Meaningless mirth, desperate desire About a life led in a quagmire Of a thousand feelings, love and betrayal A mishmash of acceptance and denial Let us, me and myself create poetry That understands everyone But is understood by none Let us be called a fool and a genius be.