Monday, January 5, 2009

Poems by a fan of Neruda and Mithunda -3


I believe..
In the dampness on my pillow,
That still smells of the rain
On your wet hair.

I believe..
In the shattered window pane,
That trembles to the wind
On a cold February evening.

I believe..
In the creaky old bed,
Where we lay entwined
Like creepers on a moss covered wall.

I believe..
When there is nothing left to believe,
All that remains
And all that lingers
Is just emptiness, and
The sound of rain on my tin roof.

P.S - Happy New Year to all..i had an awesome booze filled new year bash at alibagh..discovered for the first time that women staring at my perfectly spherical beer belly makes me feel like a sex object.