Unconditionally

Unconditionally 

Her eyes met mine like the second and 

the minute hand of a clock,

once every minute of every hour of each day.

Her kiss tasted like dark chocolate, 

bold and irresistible and ever so perfect, 

for I am lactose intolerant. 

Her clothes smelt old, sassy and Italian, 

like vineyards and Scorsese.

Her farts were like a walk through an orchid,

mildly disturbing and so overrated; it felt like 

summer breeze, well, almost like loo.

Her voice was crisp, spicy and so satisfying, 

like a pack of Kurkure.

Her touch felt like post- constipation, 

eagerly awaited and unbelievably redeeming.

Her moans were like marsupials, 

Her walk like penguins.

Her head was as bald as the eagle, 

she had about the same keratin. 

Her smile was photogenic, curvy and fake;

if it had an ass of its own, Kanye would marry it.

Her heart was fleshy and not cold nor raw, 

just like how I like my steak.

Her beauty was undisputed, her flaws were forgivable

only because I was in love, unconditionally.

Funeral

The Funeral
A monochromatic gathering, all in black; not just the apparel but also at heart. 

The woman they knew, they loved, they admired;

is gone but in mortality alone.

Hitherto a soul confined to a body, now she exists as much more;

in laughters, in tears, in photographs and countless memories of yore.  

She departed through with and along a pyre, an urn and the blazing fire.

The significance of her departure seemed conveniently oblivious 

to those who knew her not as the branch of a river or the wind in the sail-

which was but all she was.

As mere words were uttered but ignored by many ears;

as sobs were followed by salty, grief filled tears;

as the sky was blue, above her, awaiting and

the smoke was there, dispersing the sorrow;

as so much is happening for not whom she is but for whom she was;

she gave them more to remember than to ask for;

she left them all- she went alone, alone she went, the wretched lass. 

The Pizzaz of English

The pizzazz of English.

Picture, O reader, an Orchestra- humbly defying thy expectations.

Unseen and overlooked, this ensemble of elegance addressed 

to one and all as Language, is the epitome of pulchritude. 

Hear the Orchestra, for it follows.
‘Hear’ well and you’ll know, 

the oink of the pig or the tic-tac of the clock;

the hiccup from the throat or cooing of the flock;

are all mere words but yet onomatopoeic.
Now, ‘hear’ well and contemplate too

for what follows might amaze you.

So the homophone that rang belonged to which witch?
Now sing along and say it right, 

irrespective of your soprano or thick, 

‘Arabian Sands’ are vast 

thence comes your synecdoche. 

Thou sang along; albeit all wrong.

Oh Fudge! Oh fish!

Thou art euphemistically dysphemis.
Having said it wrong, let’s kompose and write –

like the ku klux klan have satirikally misspelled.

Did’ya cnow? They replaked the C with the K and 

Kaused kaos uncnowingly.
For thy birth they merged, thy wer and thy wyf 

Speaking of chaos, I couldn’t resist;

to mention thy birth and for that I shall

shoutout to thy wer and thy wyf.
I shall try to be a paronomastic man, 

But, I’m big and large- as thou can see

and I’m not one to be puny.

Wavered, pondering and lost all hope?

Fret not, O reader, here comes more.

Meet the Antanaclasis, informing thee that

time flies like an arrow; flies like banana.
Did you ever know the story 

where there lies glory

for the blind carpenter who 

picked up his hammer and saw? 

O reader, you’ve been hit by 

syntactic ambiguity, hard and raw.
Take a walk on the garden path and find thou shall

whatever lies above this.
Shoutout to Steven Wright for his analogy was right

For he said that he knew and he wasn’t speaking of the right,

“On the other hand…… you have five other fingers.”
And for the one liner that she read, humorous perhaps;

her hair too wasn’t red, but she surely didn’t get,

what the ‘one-liner’ was meant to be cause

some blond joke, get it?
-Hariharan Sriram (The Skookum).

I can’t wait

I can’t wait for the time when I feel so helpless in love;

I can’t wait.

I can’t wait for those endless stares and that meaningful silence;

I can’t wait.

I can’t wait for when I miss her with every breath of mine;

I can’t wait.

I can’t wait for the sheepish smiles and countless chuckles;

I can’t wait.

I can’t wait for holding her hand and being on top of the world;

I can’t wait.

I can’t wait for sleepless nights or timeless thoughts;

I can’t wait.

I can’t wait for when I regret my acts and become more of a child;

I can’t wait.

I can’t wait for a little fight- the time when she apologises first;

I can’t wait.

I can’t wait for the world to seem worthless before her smile;

I can’t wait.

I can’t wait for when I roll on my bed throughout the night;

I can’t wait.

I can’t for you to come and sweep me away. 

I can’t wait for so long so I’ll need you now.

For you and for now, I will wait…
-Hariharan Sriram (The Skookum).

Remember me

Fortunately or not;

Death greets us all.

Once we lived and soon we’re gone.

For this mortal speck, in the boundless vast,

will be but a memory, of the past.

But I, as a soul, want to last.

Remember me, remember me.

For death shall know and it shall remember,

It was I who met it, with that smile

the smile of knowing that I’m gone

But not forgotten,

the smile of knowing that you will

remember me.

Though I have not, not yet, 

done that, which you haven’t too;

Though I have not, not yet,

been what you haven’t been too;

Though I am just that what you are,

It shouldn’t stop one from making me last.

For I’ve not done something to remember,

But I have lived as who I am.

And that’s all it takes and

one needs nothing more to

remember me. To remember me.

Remember me, for all of my good

Remember me, for the bundle of my bad,

For both are but the two sides of me and

without one, the other won’t last.

If my smile was bright, don’t forget it soon

If my eyes were a sight, remember them too

If you ever miss me, then fret not

as it takes nothing but gives way more

to remember me, to remember me. 
-Hariharan Sriram (The Skookum).