Karma on 2 Wheels
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At times it is not even poetic. too brutal to be so. Awaken a sense of loss.
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Karma on 2 Wheels. This blog contains poems of Gautam Sinha. At various times he has been an engineer in a steel plant, corporate trainer, professor in an IIT, poet, avid biker,an incurable optimist and a perennial student at heart and currently, Director of an IIM! Sunday, August 9, 2015. The eyes, the eyes. The eyes, once. Smouldered in anger at boyish shenanigans;. Glowered unruliness to submission;. Shed silent tears all night, afraid to wake us,. In the wash of moonlight through the open windows;.CONTENT
This web page karmaon2wheels.blogspot.com states the following, "This blog contains poems of Gautam Sinha." We saw that the webpage said " At various times he has been an engineer in a steel plant, corporate trainer, professor in an IIT, poet, avid biker,an incurable optimist and a perennial student at heart and currently, Director of an IIM! Sunday, August 9, 2015." It also said " The eyes, the eyes. Smouldered in anger at boyish shenanigans;. Glowered unruliness to submission;. Shed silent tears all night, afraid to wake us,. In the wash of moonlight through the open windows;."SEEK SIMILAR DOMAINS
Of love, life and lunacy. Saturday, May 3, 2014. Thursday, April 24, 2014. My exultant eyes burst into tears,. He knows not the meaning of which. Crimson half moons rest on my neck,. His sharp nails dug in a shade too deep. He is my pink mascara,. His lips smell of poppers,. He can keep the regret colour memories. I just want to smell of freedom,. I have always been the topper. The sea looked like the sky. Sometimes you look like me! Thursday, April 10, 2014.
Saturday, March 15, 2014. I waited with bated breath,. Each car that passed by,. I hoped it would be his. I only heard a voice,. But never could I touch him. To hear him say my name . And now I would finally see him,. The phone rings ,. I hear him say,. Please direct me your way. My heart starts pounding,.
Saturday, June 7, 2014. As the moon rose within her womb. Tears that could give birth. A wail arose from her self. A lullaby that had once put. A chorus of sirens,. Each with an unborn baby. Afraid of the melody,. Teeming with the coldness of memory. And the warmth of abandon.
Rotten peas, sweet peas, pimply peas, moody peas. Monday, July 6, 2015. I knew not quite what I sought at. A winter bazaar in old Calcutta -. Terracotta, conch shell, a silken mat -. When I chanced upon the finest attar. Of rose in a crystal vial. More giddying than opium milk; a sniff. And cities fell and crashed and burned. Infinitely to a joy olfactory,. Saturday, May 2, 2015.