I am angry, so what? ? ?
I am angry at my self.
Really really mad.
I tried sincerely to convince,
But as stubborn that he is,
To distilled wisdom.
What is the problem I ask?
In being a turnstile?
You run no risk,
In supreme calm,
Turn anti clockwise,
You do your job,
You are in sync with the lord.
He will not listen.
He takes out a cigar,
Like an Italian Mafioso,
With dames around,
Bites the end off,
Flames the other,
Smokes a deep one,
Does a bottoms up,
And jeers at me,
I was born to be a Ferrari.
Not red, Pink.
Not because I like it,
Just for the heck of it.
Hardik Vaidya's Other Poems
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