After a long time,
Feels like a millennia,
Before Homo Erectus was erect,
I am not driving,
Taking a cab,
A Taxi,
A Fiat Premier Padmini,
I am amazed at the man on the steering wheel,
His engine has lost him,
The transmission, failed him,
The brakes, they do everything but brake,
He still manages to drive safe.
And look at me,
A Brand new car,
Not anybody's gift,
The first I bought, the girl I love the most,
Sassy, hot, brilliant, effulgent in her diesels roar,
And still every day,
After parking her in my Fathers parking bay,
Between two stupid concrete pillars,
I curse myself,
Why the hell wasn't rich enough?
To by a land rover or an Endavor, Everest, or perhaps
A Porsche, pink, two seater,
The person beside me,
Your fantasies hooter.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
I find a little of your sense of humor hidden within this one. Can relate to your change of perception, Hardik. Wanting more from life than what you are getting. Finding myself every once in a while, thinking why aren't I rich enough. Emotions play with your mind sometimes, and makes life hard to be satisfied with. Your honesty enriches my mind, Hardik. We are only human after all. RoseAnn