The blue tint of the room is obscene
As are the happy-thoughts
That swarm inside my head
It's only the sickle of the moon
That cuts the chord
And sets the star free
To fall through the darkness
Old dreams lie sleepless
Look at me, and i will tell you why.
Some thoughts are just so happy. They are like under-nourished suburban mastaans with inflated impressions of themselves. They flex muscles. Wear cheap glasses. Dirty yellow T-shirt(the only good one they own) with weirdly fitted trousers( Hip-hugging. Bell-bottoms. With sliver chains). They lean against walls and stand. Just stand. Like that.
Then there are other thoughts. Well-framed. Decent. Crew cut. Well-bred. They have purses well shoved with Plastic cards. All kinds. They wear clear glasses. Striped shirt. Sober jeans. Boot cut.
The fun begins when the suburb guy takes the train to the city. But I am in no mood to be funny right now. So I will not talk about them. I will talk about the beef biryani I had instead. It was so wonderful.This shop. Man I love cows!
I feel weird. Mostly because I don't feel anything at all. So technically, I don't even feel weird. I can't.