To not second-guess myself,
To let things go
To allow myself love,
To articulate and to connect
Living with myself,
Taking care of me.
To not second-guess myself,
To let things go
To allow myself love,
To articulate and to connect
Living with myself,
Taking care of me.
I take it for granted—I know I’m in for a ride. I know I have nothing to worry about. I know I can just glide along. I know I can push it to its limits.
I am not repelled by its bright color; on the contrary, it sets the mood for the journey. Yes, journey. A unhurried, unfazed journey. For all the odd traffic that the Pondy streets can throw at it. For all those odd jaywalkers. For all those not-so-odd bumps in the road. ‘Cause all it does is a-cruise.
Pondy and the BSA Street Rider. Think Old Monk and Coke. Think jeans and sneakers. Think music and lyrics.
Textures, wavy textures
Wavin’ about
Wavin’ about for life
Zany, wany textures.
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Pop-Up
Pops up in the middle of nowhere,
In the middle of somewhere,
Propped up Pop-Up.
To not give in to emotions,
To not get carried away,
The heart strings tug away,
And I can’t help but melt.
A ceaseless ringing,
Fades away,
When the author picks up his pen –
Short-lived, his solace.
He asked—she was waiting,
The comfort extended beyond the texts
Living for the moment,
That’s all they hoped for.
Dreams, sanity in question,
Many a miles travelled,
Only to meet their destiny –
Silenced,
For what seems like forever.
Try, as you might,
Force it upon yourself, so you do,
So many things only,
One is capable of
Banter, everywhere,
Considerable amounts of engagement,
Constant debating,
Never did any, any good.
Is it all sunshine and roses,
Is any?