Treasure Island

Hardik Vaidya

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

Lock Smith


I lost the key to my suitcases lock.
Perhaps I lost the lock, had the right key.
Out went I to find a lock smith,
Who would free my clothes, to clad my nudity.
He was waiting like the Yama Deva,
Smiled at me and said come my dear brave,
He plied the lock, twisted the sprock,
And in a jiffy was broken the little pad lock.
He smiled, his eyes, they bore a tale of yore,
He freed all men from the bond of wed lock.

Submitted: Friday, February 08, 2013
Edited: Saturday, February 09, 2013
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Poet's Notes about The Poem

My wife reads my poems, this is just a harmless flight of fancy, all men are stupid enough to get married and dud enough to then want to be bachelors. Harmless jive love you my wife.

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