This bus is a cup,
Brimming with creatures,
Big nose, small toes,
And other amusing features.
From here to there,
To every type of where,
Jump on, jump in,
Inhale the stink.
Enjoy the view,
And mind your head,
Dhoomrapaan
Manna hai.
If there’s no place,
You’ll have to sit inside,
Don’t mind that stench,
Hygiene just died.
And finally,
When you’re settled in,
You’ll hear the conductor say,
Aap ka stop aa
Your lips are sealing,
And you’re slowly feeling,
Feeling, feeling,
Detached.
Your scars were healing,
Till you felt like screaming,
Screaming, screaming,
Through them.
You’re slowly hating,
And contemplating,
The realism in the reality,
Of contentment.
You’re tired of playing,
And persistently swaying,
Swaying, swaying,
Mentally.
Your mental sway,
Has no cadence.
You cannot sense,
What you are feeling.
You’re settling,
Into the numb.
You find veracity in now.
Slice of a tree bark,
Carpentered curved and slim,
Tinted viridian,
And crowned with Sable lips
Softly kisses the hues,
Embracing an assortment of shades,
And when it speaks,
It narrates a story,
A story of emotions,
Indescribable by words,
On to a bare, inviting canvas,
Creating long lasting impressions,
Pouring spirit into its blankness,
Painting on diverse expressions
Filling it with a soul,
A reason for existence
The static between,
Itself and the other,
Bears a relationship unique,
One beyond understanding,
One not worth wanting to decipher
In fear of losing it’s charm
And it is him, who controls,
The destiny of the two,
It is him, who’s engulfed
In their supernatural liaison
When he brings the two together,
Attempting to create what no other
Can create for him
A message to an audience
A message for himself
The hidden truth, the broken heart, the raging id,
Anything, everything
‘I paint with my heart’, says he,
‘Not with my hands.’
