scribblings

Don't be too worried about my name tonight.. 
I am Zafar, 
And also the victory song...
I am a poor miner's serial number, 
And the SORRY that goes wrong...
I am your favorite heartbreak, 
White flag on a weathered mast.
I am your unlit cigarettes, 
And the postcard from your past.

Hurt

‎Andre Villas Boas...AT 34, You dared to take up the hottest managerial post in Europe..your ambition, drive, and nonchalance on the face of searing criticism, a flurry of defeats and a mercurial owner won my heart..your helplessness, continuous pacing and whistling at the touchline and the exultation and relief after rare victories would be images that i would carry with me for a long time...you were the modern day Icarus, only i hoped you would not crash and burn..May you find greener pastures, and with a team that matches your talent, script a comeback that's the stuff of fairy-tales...i hope you are my Rocky, my Cinderella Man, riding the chariot of fire escaping to victory...play your symphony with a red guitar on fire...i will wait....

Jealous

They said you were seeing someone new

New flashlights, new Starlight

New fabrics on skin.

Old colonial sidewalks resounded with

A new pair of laughter.

Coffee light dusks and Cineplex afternoons.

Meetings, precious like

Grandparents’ anniversary photos.

And then the cobra pangs of jealousy

Hit me, Bit me.

Sunset horizon was green

And Sunrise dipped in chlorophyll.

They said you were unsure,

You’d walk a million mile more

To hold his hand.

And a few silent steps.

To trample on my heart.

The last twist of the dagger

And the green eyed adder.

A space shuttle is what I need,

To fly away, to places where

Roses are still red,

And your signature still the same.

The rhyme, the rhythms are all green tonight

For Iago is my name.