Saturday, November 26, 2005

The Birth of a Question.

As the figures roll us by,
To get us drunk - and keep us high,
In spirits of the work that's done,
And in stead, for years to come,
There are a few things that spring to mind,
Puzzles and riddles of another kind.

What's the day but a number's cry,
Birth's farewell, Death's secret spy.
Or are the moments some brownie points -
For the years ahead with creaking joints

Or perhaps, just a little tap
To run us harder, to bridge the gap
Just a gentle wish, to live-it-up
And to fill the day with a happy cup

Or even perhaps a jolt from time,
That today's dollar will be worth a dime,
But the day, today, is nothing more,
Or better and fuller than the one before

Easy it is, for me to ask,
So set yourself this simple task
The day today, when tomorrow gets
See yourself what it forgets

And that is where the answer lies -
Buried deep beneath,
Those "Happy Birthday!" cries.



maverick said...

Shit man, forgot.guess it was the exam fever at work.
anyways, wish you a belated happy birthday.
for once i actually understood your poem, n found it really cool.

Abhishek said...

thanks !