My life is like a cab, passing me by…
I travel home by bus, I don't mind, I don't cry.
I think of other people, and why it's not fair
to squander a fortune, give a beggar a blank stare…
We all struggle with crisis, and you drive on my expenses -
it's simple - you just sit and wait - I scribble my verses…
‘Madam'! Get out of this car and go home on foot
at the snail pace of mine, when I am so screwed…
Do you want to be me? Don't dye your hair; quit smoking;
wear no make up; show your greys - I am not joking…
Do you know where I am when you call that cab?
My exhausted brain is wired in the ‘holy' lab…
This is very simple - I am lost for words…
Poetry is my hobby… Please do not enter my poems into any competition, behind my back, without my consent. Please do not reward anyone who is not the genuine author of the poems written by me…
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem