Sitting by the window,
a book strewn lazily across my lap,
Brian Eno playing in the background,
the wind blows through the half open window,
the sun rays shine on my face,
I just sit there, watching the world go by.
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Note – This poem was written in parts during different occasions, in various places at different levels of intoxication.
The end of a long day,
Meeting new people, uniting with old friends,
its tougher than it sounds,
tiring it definitely is, pleasing it isnt.
Golden, brown, maroon and magenta.
It changes like the seasons,
unlike the weather, its always pleasant.
The precious liquid of life.
Some say its bad for you,
other say its just like poison,
either way, its a trip straight to heaven,
what a fine way to die.
This bar is older than my father,
yet it serves his son so well.
What a perfect drink, I exclaim,
there’s none as soothing as the odd one out.
The temperature of a perfectly chilled one,
the heavy feel of a fat bottomed glass,
the gentle simmer of the froth,
the first sip, worth a lifetime of work.
I grin like a kid, she smiles back,
the first sip has hit the blood.
My vision blurs, her smile fades,
few too many sips some would say.
Not enough I say, wink at the barman for more,
she disagrees, I agree, barman says 3 pounds.
Count out the change, I pay, turn around, she’s gone.
I laugh, who needs a woman when you have a pint.
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Note – This poem was written in a very boring Economics lecture and is mostly true.
Once a subject I loved too much,
now a subject I love to hate.
Sitting in this giant red box,
watching the bearded man talk away,
supply, demand and a million other bits,
income, expenditure and boredom.
One kid listens to his swanky iPod,
another plays games on his cellphone,
looking around, I realize they are not alone,
this subject is almost as fun,
as counting to one.
Numbers and symbols swarm my head,
will I ever use them, I wonder,
as do two hundred around me.
The lecturer pauses,
hundreds turn to stare at their wrists,
the glittering of the watches nearly blinds me,
alas, there is still another hour left and I have to pee.
I shut my eyes and drift,
drift to a land,
a far away land of…
‘AND 12 times 12 is 144 POUNDS!’
I wake up sharply,
curse the numbers,
but the numbers show me,
only five minutes to go.
Smiling, I sit up, listen and,
silently amuse myself with thoughts of dinner.
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The fifth floor of the Albert Sloman,
everyday I go and sit at my spot,
the last chair by the window on the left,
and gaze at the lake for hours at end.
Studying I dont, for I find it unrewarding,
staring at the splendour of the lake,
has given me many a knowledge,
that EC111 couldnt have.
The occasional crow that swoops by my window,
the odd phone ringing on the other side of the room,
the fire alarm going off in the distance,
all contribute to this unique experience.
The shuffling of shoes,
the flipping of pages,
the clacking of keyboards,
the scratching of pen on paper,
all break the deathly silence,
so silent that I can hear my heartbeat.
I like my seat on the fifth floor,
I feel like I’m on top of the world,
surveying my territory outside my window,
gazing at the ducks, swans and geese,
and the pretty girl in red feeding them.
I’m transported to another world of solitude and freedom.
So many books around me waiting to be read,
so much knowledge waiting to be gained,
so much literature to put in my head,
but all I want to do,
is sit and stare out of the window instead.
I see a young couple fight and break up,
and another kiss and make up,
I see the ducks fighting over a piece of bread,
and the doves waiting to be fed.
I can see the whole world from here,
from my perch on the 5th floor,
watching life in its finest forms.
If there was one place I could sit forever,
it would be the last chair on the 5th floor.
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The quiet summer afternoons,
the stillness of the atmosphere,
punctuated by the tick tock of the clock,
the calm whirring of the fan,
the twittering of the birds,
and the shrill honk of the autorickshaws.
Nothing to interrupt my time of solitude,
as I bask in the warm afternoon sunshine,
with my magazine strewn across my lap,
waiting to be read,
while the reader stares blankly into the sky.
I can make out some familiar faces in the sky,
one cloud reminds me of me, and another,
resembling a damsel waiting to be found, drifts away lazily.
I divert my gaze over to nearby terraces,
briefly pausing upon the pretty girl in red,
moving to the monkeys leaping across rooftops,
before resting on the gentle sway of trees far away.
My serenity is rudely broken,
I hear my phone ringing,
Ignoring it, I shut my eyes,
and enjoy the sounds of this glorious land,
a land I’m proud to call home.
- Kishor Krishnamoorthi
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Because two is better than one,
and one is better than none.
Because they say rocket science is hard to understand,
obviously they havent met women.
Because time and experience dont come together,
and neither do age and wisdom.
Because its easy to sit and complain,
but hard to stand up and take the blame.
Because every human has an opinion,
and every opinion has a reason.
Because respecting another’s opinion is for the learned,
and some people will never grow up.
Because no two people are the same,
and opposites attract.
Because there is nothing more fragrant,
than the sweet smell of victory.
Because its easy to lose hope,
but sometimes hope is all you have.
Because living for oneself is selfish,
a life helping others is honourable.
Because ignorance is bliss,
but knowledge is power.
Because there is no greater satisfaction in life,
than watching your children succeed.
- Kishor Krishnamoorthi
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Because some friends are forever,
as are some enemies.
Because quitters will never be winners,
and cowards will never be men.
Because I can never explain to you,
what you refuse to understand.
Because some will never realize,
that there is more to life than money.
Because it is only human to err,
but to learn from it is divine.
Because there are some things book cant teach,
travel broadens the mind.
Because madness breaks us apart,
and laughter brings us together.
Because only some are born to lead,
and others are led to follow.
Because silence is golden,
and lying is a sin.
Because I’d give myself for you,
hoping you’d do the same for me too.
Because its the smallest of imperfections,
that leave the largest of memories.
Because a life without principles,
is better not lived.
- Kishor Krishnamoorthi
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The bloody reds,
the deep blues,
the stark greens,
and the vibrant yellows.
All crash and combine in a melody,
a melody of love and eternity,
a breathtaking rendition of life,
better than life itself.
Velvia, what would we do without you?
Some would sell their souls for you,
some would split their lives into two,
some would leave their loved ones too,
and if you ask them for who,
they’d reply, only because there is none like you.
Some days you get it just right,
some days you get it miserably wrong,
but whatever the day may be,
the look, the feel, the touch, and the colours,
a simple depiction of life’s expression,
none else can achieve the same perfection.
Velvia, where would the world be without you?
- Kishor Krishnamoorthi
Velvia 50 taken by Allan Crain
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The bike of my dreams,
the ride of kings,
you glide past me with that thumping noise,
thumping with every beat of my heart.
The year was 1995, I was five.
I rode you for the first time,
and it was the first time that someone captured my heart,
my soul, and every thought in my little mind.
Across countries and over continents,
mesmerizing the minds of millions,
stopping people from a mile away,
with that thudding rhythm of your beat.
Oh ride of kings,
one day you will be mine.
- Kishor Krishnamoorthi
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If – 2.0
If you can retain sanity when your entire world,
everything you gave your life for, everything you worked for,
crashes down and breaks into a million pieces in front of your eyes.
If you can give up everything you’ve ever achieved,
to save the life of that one person,
that one person who means the world to you.
If you can let go of that one person,
that one person you gave your life for,
to better the lives of a billion people.
If you can make a proposal to the a girl you’ve always loved,
only to be disappointed, dismayed and destroyed.
And continue with life as though nothing happened.
If you can practice your trade all day long,
in the hope of gaining a new life,
even though all there is to be gained has been lost.
If you can give everyone everything you own,
since giving is better than receiving,
only to have noone receive your giving.
If you can spend a lifetime creating your dream,
only to give it all up and walk away.
Walk away undeterred towards a new goal.
If you can endure suffering and pain knowing that,
the only person that cares about you is you.
If you can travel across the seven seas,
in search of a reason for life, a reason to be,
a reason to exist, a reason to continue.
If you fail to find a reason for survival,
yet choose to bash on regardless.
If you can live when all that is worth living for is death,
If you can die when all that is worth dying for is dead.
If you can live long enough,
long enough to look into the innocent eyes of your newborn son,
long enough to see your name go down in history,
and realize that everything you’ve gone through had been worth it.
- Kishor Krishnamoorthi
Inspired by the truly amazing original ‘If‘ by the legendary Rudyard Kipling.
Comments and criticism invited.
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