His long, curly, ruffled hair
would sway to his tabla-beat.
Drama lingered in the air-
I, on the edge of my seat.
His thick brows danced up and down,
music shone in those owl eyes.
Ears attuned to any sound,
fingers played ballet on ice.
I ask - is he really gone?
his rhythms echo, play on.
Mindless wanderings have begun.
The devil has leased my mind.
I know not for what I yearn.
A piece of peace hard to find.
To escape the long languor
I drown in a jar of wine.
But sour thoughts tend to linger
to become my breath of whines.
My musings amuse me not-
Am a prisoner of my thoughts.
My old shoes are worn and torn
by journeying many a miles.
They have walked on sand and stone,
now seem faded out of style.
But them - how could I discard?
for they have known my pulse beat.
In all weather have stood guard,
and forever warmed my feet.
But I need to tell my soul-
move on, time to wear new soles.
Brekkie of hot bun and chai.
Spicy gossip makes us high.
Old age is now catching up.
Others around us feel shy.
