Treasure Island

Hardik Vaidya

(26 Dec 1969, yet to kick the bucket. / Mahuva, Gujarat, India.)

Funny kind of Fear


For the first time I was scared,
While weaving through traffic the thought came.
What if my poem left me?
I honked, to breathe in the Aircon air,
Then the setting sun came to my help.
He told me,
Buddy, what does it matter?
Did your life stop when your life slipped away?
Did your heart stop when your soul breathed far away?
Did you a hypocrite stop living when you were supposed to be dead?
Then why fret if one in a billion poet dies a ordinary death.
I breathed easy, pressed the gas pedal,
I felt all was normal,
She was in any case my morsel.

Submitted: Wednesday, February 27, 2013
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Poet's Notes about The Poem

Do not be a poet and drive.

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