Got Nothing To Lose

I’ve had to jump and then lie low
I’ve had to run and then go slow
I’ve had to chase and then follow
I’ve had to stop and then let go

But baby, I’m through with it all
I’ve done my time, I’ve taken the fall
Baby, I’m broken but here’s the news
I’ve lost it all, so I got nothing to lose

I will get past but I won’t get good
I’ll understand and not be understood
I won’t be fine but guess what
I can't be worse, and that's a happy thought

So baby, let’s strike the match
Let’s watch it burn, rather than start from scratch
Let’s take the detour, just let’s cut loose
For when you’ve lost it all, you got nothing to lose.

Lukewarm

Its lost the burn of hot
Its too early to be called cold
Its meandered into in-between
Its used up the quality of bold

Its turned its back on urgent
Yet, it would be unfair to say its dead
In a land called Lukewarm
Things are better left unsaid

Its moved beyond the superlative
Its got stuck in the so-so
Its changed track from manic
And drifted to a pace more slow

Its apathy is showing, its breath is dying
Its clearly past the storm
And yet, it’s there and will remain
In a land that’s called Lukewarm.

Cliche Junkie

All things said and done and heard
I guess it’s tough to be original
Because hey, there isn’t a fresh thought
That qualifies as cerebral
But silence is golden, or haven’t you heard
When you have nothing to say, say nothing
Wrapping your thoughts in clichés is fine
But the veto is what you’ll be getting
Repeating things oft repeated
Is like doing what I call a Crap Diem
But I guess it’s all been said before
Guilty as charged: Ad Nauseam.

Big Girl, Small World

I’m a big girl now

I don’t need small talk
That takes you away from the larger picture

I don’t cultivate small fries
Who are basically sycophants with large promises

I don’t place my bets on this small world
That is ruled disproportionately by large incomes

I don’t value small mercies
That are compromises wrapped in large wrappings

I don’t find small joys
And that only hurts me largely at times

I don’t appreciate small measures
Because they often divert from the larger plot

I don’t get small lies
Because you always end up being the larger victim

I don’t like the fact that small town dreams
Have resulted in a larger-than-life ego

And yet
As I look into the mirror
I see a person
And she’s smaller
Far smaller a person that she was.

Friday State of Mind

Of all the things I whine about
And a hundred come to mind
That weekend's near, is not one my dear
So Friday, do be kind

My job's got me going nowhere
It's just the daily grind
Things won't get better, there's no increment letter
So Friday, do be kind

My weight oscillates, my jeans don't fit
The effects can be seen on my behind
My love life is a joke, I don't have a bloke
So Friday, do be kind

Today, I shall OD on coffee, skip low-cal
And to work, turn an eye quite blind
Throw back some drinks, catch up on forty winks
That's my Friday state of mind.

Just Go

You’ve been having misgivings lately
And weighing things in your head
Wondering and waiting, sulking and over-stating
Leaving pretty much unsaid

You spend hours with your laptop
And even more over the phone
Texting friends, not making amends
Leaving us in no-man’s zone

And while I have no compelling reason
To suggest what I am doing
I honestly believe, that you should leave
Your whining is worse than your wooing.

Around The Corner

Around the corner, there’s a feeling
It’s called Risk and it is screaming
You better take it now, or forever be
The one who thought indefinitely

Around the bend, there’s a bigger scare
Flaring its nose, it’s called Dare
You better jump now, or forever stand
On the side where everything is pre-planned

Around the turn, there’s another bruise
It’s called Pain and it’s on the loose
You better feel it now, maybe feel degraded
Rather than fake the fun, yet stay quite jaded

Around the road, there’s a bigger stop
It’s called Happiness, and it’s a sheer drop
Hold on to it, or you’re a goner
Coz chances are, there’s something waiting round the corner.

Predictable, Disastrous

We may as well admit it
No point making a fuss
It all boils down to the same old thing
Predictable, Disastrous

The more we analyze the patterns
The more we debate and discuss
In the end, the score card is more often than not
Predictable, Disastrous

And then, we’ll wonder as we always do
Is it everyone or just us
Funnily enough the answers veer towards
Predictable, Disastrous

But hope is a cheap gimmick
A shiny veneer that covers the mess
And through it we’ll emerge to find things are
Predictable, Disastrous.

Playing Hard to Get

It seems men like the chase
And girls should play hard to get
For if you keep 'em guessing
They’ll try harder at impressing
And you’ll have fewer reasons to fret

But that’s a theory quite dreary
And may not have desired effect
Like any sport, mind games have a limit
If you’ve got a point to make, don’t skim it
Stop hemming and hawing, be direct

Now truth be told, being direct and bold
Can prove a habit rather risky
He could reject your advances
Think you’re easy, take his chances
And forget you like last night’s whiskey

But here’s the thing and it’s brilliant
All said and done, it's not so bad
For he may be gone and dusted
Leaving you weary and busted
But you’re better off without that cad.

When The Lights Went Out

Last night the lights went out

And my house was plunged in darkness

I was left alone with my mind

And its innermost recesses

I battled with my turmoil

Over my losses I cried

I talked sternly to my confidence

That had been taken for a ride

I had a conversation with my conscience

I shared secrets with my pain

I reflected over the sublime memories

That would never visit me again

I made peace with what I couldn’t change

And reveled at things I could

Fought with things that got me down

Buried the things I should

And just as suddenly as they had gone

The lights came back and boom!

The person I had met in the dark

Had sadly left the room.

One-Woman Man

Can it be true?
That these creatures are non-fictional
That there exists a tribe, to whom we’d ascribe
Loyalties that are non-seasonal?

Can it be true?
That they settle down and settle for
A life more sedentary, yet far less ordinary
Rather than wanting more?

Can it be true?
That temptations, no matter how glorious
Are nixed at the bud, lest they raise their head
And create a situation quite precarious

Can it be true?
That the one-woman man is for real
He may not be folk lore, but chances are he’s a bore
And that, my ladies, is the real deal.

Plans

I used to have plans

To make it big and travel to small places
To find my groove without losing my mind
To think like a girl and feel like a woman
To live simply and take tough decisions
To feel excited for others, and be calm with myself
 To be quite random, and yet quite sorted
To eat little for dinner, drink lots of water
To pray each night and curse only if I meant it
To change my haircut often, my mind far less
To take the fall, and rise in my opinion

And just as it happens to me in a car
My plans sometimes took the backseat
Which is fine, for it’s the ride that matters
In the end, and not the balance sheet.

Mixed Signals

You call me twenty times a day

And then go incommunicado
You say you miss me all the time
But for months, you’re a no-show


You send me mushy drunken texts
That suggest your heart is for the taking
Then you act cool and so-platonic
Clearly I feel so mistaken


You specialize in sending signals
That are mixed, oh-so-confusing
You blow both hot and cold, all times
An approach that’s not amusing


So sweet Sir, please play your game
Surely you’ll find success
With those looking to be used
Like a pawn in the game of chess.



.

Dirty Secret

The skeleton’s tumbled out of her closet
Have you heard her dirty little secret?

A life packed with grey, a face sans regret
Have you heard her dirty little secret?

Losers weepers, what she’s found, she’s kept
Have you heard her dirty little secret?

She’ll spare you the drama, light up her cigarette
Have you heard her dirty little secret?

She’s a write-off, but don’t do that just as yet
Have you heard her dirty little secret?

We, the Women

Women, we’re a peculiar lot
And I am talking ‘bout each one of us
We’re as shrewish as we’re catty
We’re as smart-ish as we’re batty
I think the word for it is ‘DICHOTOMOUS’

The young ones can be kinda weird
Though older ones are no less weirder
They’ll talk bold, then go coy
Fake orgasms, take your joy
I hear the words men think are ‘BLUE MURDER’

Of course, some men claim they’re wiser
And make feeble attempts to entice her
They’ll hang around, be the nice bloke
Take her to movies, laugh at her joke
I fear the words they end up with are ‘GAME OVER’.

Not Happening Today

A good shampoo needs conditioner
A good dog deserves a bone
A good girl needs a spanking
A good writer needs time alone
A good drink needs company
A good fish calls for chips
A good wallet needs more money
A good wine demands more sips
A good night needs less sleep
A good job needs more pay
A good poem needs a hug
But that's not happening today!

The Screw

The blokes, they say are thinking
Of sex most of the time
The chicks, they love the talking
Which some consider a crime

The rakes, they count vaginas
Like a shepherd counts his sheep
The innocents, they prize their virginity
Then gladly, lose it to a creep

The Indians, claim they’re experts
This side of the Brahmaputra
Their experiences few, their theories vast
They proudly cite the kamasutra

The kids, they’re shielded fiercely
From the proverbial birds and bees
But the parents soon figure, that sex is de rigeur
For a generation fed on sleaze

The 69, well, much has been said
At cocktails, some hold court
Of affairs in the past, when they’ve left ‘em aghast
With their prowess to contort

The truth, when all is said and done
Is that, no matter how you think or act
Whether you’re wedded, or simply just bedded
Life will screw you and that’s a fact.

These days

Tears threaten to well up too soon, without warning

And my jaw hurts in an attempt to smile, its true

These days

I look at childhood pictures and wonder, alarmed

Where the girl in them has vanished, or has she

These days

I wander alone in my flat, stare at an empty fridge

And feel a sinking feeling as I try to sleep, but don’t

These days

I have nothing to lose, yet I feel lost

I get up and get dressed, yet feel stripped

These days

Nothing is the same, yet nothing has changed

All that I say, hear or see, is the same – rearranged

These days

A Note to Fat Cells

I like fat cells, I really do

Though often, my reactions are drastic

They absorb shocks, absorb booze

Though physically, they hang loose

Now, that’s not exactly fantastic

I get this feeling, they’re spiteful

To people who abhor and fight them

They’ll enter without asking

And go to parts most taxing

Then settle down, till you can’t move ‘em

Now if fat cells were more polite

And took permission before entering

Easy come, easy go

Go to bust, not booty, yo

They’d probably be worth sheltering.

Vapours of the Past

She dusts the corners, steadfast

Leaving it all behind

She clears the cobwebs, stringent

Burns the visions, unkind

She cuts her losses, merciless

Chars the memories in her head

She clears the spaces, demonical

Puts the stinging memories to bed

She chides the ghosts, haunting

Covers her scars with smiles

She fills the voids, stretching

With stories that stretch for miles

But as she fumigates, fervently

She realizes, quite aghast

That your drastic attempts are a weak ploy

To escape the vapours of the past.

Can't Erase Your Mind

You've packed your bags

you think you've left it all behind

You've settled your dues

And to the yesterday, turned an eye blind

But here's what you'll discover

Here's what you'll find

You can't erase your mind

You can't erase your mind

You've crushed all the bottles

In an attempt to quench your grief

You've chewed on nostalgia

And spewed regret with relief

But here's what you'll discover

Here's what you'll find

You can't erase your mind

You can't erase your mind.

A short conversation between a Cow and Human

Human: Yo Cow, shoo! Sorry moo...

You look kind of blue

Cow: Yo human, life is a farce

when they give you corn, not grass

Human: They're milking you dry, i heard

But this race to beef you up is surely absurd

Cow: Yup, they want me to get big and fatty

coz that's what makes juicier burger patty

Human: Cow, i don't understand why your spirits must nosedive

When you're keeping the meat chain kicking and alive

(Upon which the cow smiles in a stoic manner and walks off saying)

Fuck the food chain, you guys got my arse

But till then, let me go and get stoned on grass.

Monday, I'll pass.

One way is to grin and bear it

Be cheerful and truly heroic

Another way to face a grim Monday

Is to take the path more stoic

There are the abounding optimists

Who will tell you weekend tales euphoric

But you may want to vomit, sink and die

Or consider options more barbaric

Of course, there’s the profound truth

That this too shall pass

But when Monday brings about utter chaos

Such truisms usually fall flat, alas!

Me, I’ll have a conversation with the walls

And create a grocery list detailed

For when it comes to dealing with Mondays

I’ve been there, done that and failed.

Tilt

There’s a lot to be said about straight talking

But I’m inclined to believe

That a well-told lie is beautiful

That truth is best distilled through a sieve

That a story can serve its purpose

If it’s credible and robustly built

That realization need not be one dosage

That the milk need not be spilt

That the lines are blurring and hazy

That you can live life to the hilt

If you keep the fulcrum more flexible

Rather than topple, if you tilt.

The Fact Is.

Long after the laughter has died down

And the cocktail conversation has ended

Long after the clichés and stereotypes have left

And the deadline’s been extended

Long after the déjà vu has worn away

And the evening’s reached stalemate

Long after the cigarette smoke turns to stench

And the kisses reach sell-by date

Long after the drive home is catatonic

And the tears have welled up to a storm

Long after the calls have been diverted

And the phone messages seem lukewarm

Long after then, the day breaks

And the cycle of monotony creeps in

You step out, you work your way through

As you continue to rage within.