Wonderwall Cover- A Tribute to Dogs

It's gonna be my dog's birthday next week so I thought I'd cover Oasis's song "Wonderwall" as a birthday wish. This one goes out not only to Chuni but to all the dogs I've known

Cheers. Enjoy! 

The Bilge Master

Writer's Block

If you knew what I was thinking,

When I wrote this story,

Would it change the way you looked at me?

If you knew who I would kill and who I would spare,

And all about the twist I put 

In chapter seventeen,

Would you still be shocked?

If you knew what came next,

Every comma and fullstop in the text,

Would you still read me?

If you knew this story word for word,

Would the ending make you laugh or 

Would you slowly start to cry?

And could it be that, 

After some time,

You'd dig out this story

And read it again?

Would it be like the first time?

The Bilge Master

Really Short Stories

1) Father went in, ashes came out

2) The text said "Happy Birthday". The tree said "Time to go".

3) Whiskey by night. Hangover by day.

4)  The actor bowed at the end of the play. No one had stayed.

5) I came home tired. My dog wagged his tail. I revived.

6) Read Peter Pan. Took LSD. Found Neverland.

7) My calendar for today- C-Section at 10 am. Crematorium at 2pm.

8) The wedding photos were ready to speak a thousand words. The father couldn't speak a three letter word. He preferred the two letter opposite instead..

9) Lit a match. Inhaled the smoke. Coughed. #First_Smoke

10) Came home for spring break. Everyone had gone to my college. 

The Bilge Master

Her Seed Cakes

The waitress at the diner,

Swears that the recipe is a secret,

But I know better,

Since I used to eat it,

Everyday

It's texture has changed,

The flavour isn't really the same anymore,

It's sort of like that line you hear now and then,

"Brand new movie, same old scene"

Except this cake has too much flour,

And too less butter,

And as I bite into it, I

Remember what you told me about chewing

My food thirty two times,

I recall being bored and how you kept me distracted,

By putting on the TV,

The truth is, there's something missing in this cake,

It just happens to be what made it so special,

And that something

Is you Mom,

I wish you'd come back to me

The Bilge Master

Taking Flight

Meeting you was

Like a bird's wings beating,

As it took flight,

Seeing you smile was a true delight,

And my notebook was all I had with me,

Torn pages that fluttered in the wind,

Blame it on the bad binding,

All but the last page,

Covered in doodles

Which had your number written on it,

That page too will flutter away one day,

Just as hatchlings leave their nest,

The winds will carry it far away,

Or perhaps the sea will try to make the lettering fade,

But, I believe one day,

I'll find a scrap of that page,

That has your number on it,

Because I wrote it 

Using waterproof ink

The Bilge Master

Why Did The Chicken...

This poem is inspired from the photograph attached below. It was taken by a friend of mine, Shantam at Park Street

Yesterday as I was waiting for a cab,

I did not know that 

Instead of finding a way back home,

I would actually leave a question unanswered, for quite some time,

Standing at that street crossing,

I thought I saw something on the other side,

And I couldn't believe my eyes,

Which is perhaps what caused the camera in my hands to shake,

As the shutter closed,

You see I needed proof of what I was seeing,

Because it was remarkable,

Then I figured that perhaps,

I would have better luck 

On the other side of the street,

But it was dark and I did not see,

An open manhole waiting for me,

And so, I come back to the unanswered question,

Which has been somewhat modified to include a chicken,

Why was I crossing the road?

And the answer is, 

Because I was looking for You

The Bilge Master

The Self, and Greater Things

This is a guest post written by a friend in the Jadavpur University Dept. of English. I loved the way he ended it. Please welcome Koustav Naiya to the blog people! 

The Bilge Master

An empty page 

Was seeking words

But the mind reeked of love

An empty poet 

Sat by the door 

Stared at the stars above

He wished to rhyme

Of greater things

He sought a muse in war

Of lives that ceased

And left to rot

In the wasted lands afar

He looked for words

In the streets

And tales they seem to tell

Of the crowd

Their whereabouts

Of the town under a spell

He gazed around

Waited for a sound

For a whisper or a dream

He looked so hard

For a place to start

But forgot to look within