Of Life and Living

When I was young, I always dreamt,
Of a bride, and me on a stallion, riding high,
Of her cute face [for a child knows not beauty, what it is]
And her red cherry lips,
But, as a child I could never imagine a kiss.

I was growing up, and the lady was too,
She no more wore the Red Banarasi she did,
But styled herself in a white frock, and a school bag,
She had those light curly hair on her calves,
And when she smiled their were dimples on her cheek.
I could touch her now, and she would often plant a smooch on my cheek,
And blush and turn away, and I would see her ponytail swinging,
And give my ice-cream a final lick and throw away.

I grew more, and stood tall, with beard starting to decorate my face,
My love sported a jeans, and a pink top,
And we were not just kissing anymore.
But there were those glances that only woman can throw,
And the way I held her, that only a male can,
And when power and lust collided, we found love,
My single bed was not lonely any more.

Now, you call me a grown up with specs,
Dressed in those impeccable suits of employed,
I smoke my cigars, and form blue rings, But her hand never throws it away.
And look at her, she wears glasses too, the rimless, the fashioned skirts of her,
She looks serious, and she often is, so we don't go out chilling any more.
We are planning a kid somewhere in the next three to four years,
Or after that, I might just fly to England, and she to Hong Kong,
And return and have lunch here, a meeting there, and return and eat and go to bed.

My double bed is so lonely these days, I still dream of the red cherry lips,
Of me playing with hair of the calf, of furtive glances, and concealed smiles,
And I look towards her, she is fast sleeping, but I see that she is still everything and more.
Just that neither I can wake her now, or she can when she finds me like this,
We live in confusions galore