God is one for all
But our God is one, and a half.
Everybody’s faith is holy
But our faith is more than holy
The colour of blood is one for all
To prove this it was that
We let out your blood on the streets
And still if we pray, mind,
It is to save ourselves from you,
And not to save you from us!
Go ahead, do it,
If you feel like snapping her neck
In one swift motion
Like a helpless little twig,
Sincerely, be my guest.
If you want to tell him to his face
What a crap-filled hypocrite he is,
Instead of plastering on a fake smile
And playing along, God-speed to you!
If you feel like not-so-subtly reminding her
That its her twisted personality
And not ’stress’ that makes her
Act like a class-A pain in the ass.
I say why tomorrow, do it now.
But if you can’t,
Or don’t want to,
Or think that its not like ‘you’,
Or that it’s uncharacteristic of your friggin’ moon-sign
By all means,
Put a sock in it when someone else does!
I wanted to write a poem
That was dark, deep and intense,
Full of clever wordplay, obscure references,
And strictly NOT for the dense.
But things, I’m afraid,
Just didn’t turn out so well
I set my sights on doing a Plath
And ended up with doggerel!
How do I love thee,
Hmm, one minute, let me see,
Actually no, if try to say,
I’ll count and count
For so many days!
I love you more than Abhi love Ash
I love you more than minister love cash,
I love you more than Hrithik love ‘Kites’
I love you more than moth love tubelight
I love you more than bird love air
I love you more than lice love hair
I love you more than fish love sea
I love you more than monkey love tree
I love you more than Kasab love blast
I love you more than Empty Virar fast
I love you more than Paratha with Ghee,
I love thee more than you love me!
Now you only tell how can I count
I love you more than infinite amount!
Hate’s too strong,
Dislike’s too weak,
There’s not a word,
To describe this freak!
With rose-tinted glasses
And cheap bleached hair,
She walks around,
Without a care.
It beats me how
She can live in a bubble
And turn a blind eye
To all signs of trouble.
The apple of her daddy’s eye,
She hides the rotten core inside,
She says, “I’m worried bout the masses”
And thinks their heads are up their asses.
You poor, ignorant narcissist
You’re at the top of my hate list,
But then again how does it matter
I bet you think this poem flatters!
Things People Say