City Love

Like a bag of chips
with packaging too glossy
and little content.

Like a bag of chips,
sealed so tight,
half full of air
waiting to escape.

Like a bag of chips,
seasoned all too much
with little flavor.

Like a bag of chips
way past its expiry date,
left unopened,
forgotten and alone. 

Limericks Of My Land

A wrinkly old madam called Sandra,
Who lived in the suburb of Bandra,
Once flashed her white knickers
To the parish vicars,
She claims with the uttermost candour

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A chaste young Tamilian banker
Known always to be a ‘First ranker’
Was smitten by love
Till she gave him the shove
Now he’s an official wanker

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A Marathi missus called Neelam
Was loveless and moody and glum
Till a foreigner boy
Winked at her, rather coy
Seeing her sari well tucked in her bum

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