Room No. 341

A small piece based on my life in a hostel’s single room, numbered 341.

Just a room for
the classic rock beats
and the roller coasting seats,
the heavy bass
and cheery rhythm,
the sessions of solos
and the solos of sessions,
together.

Just a room for
jumbling together assorted spices
and stumbling with scattered pieces,
together.

Just a room for
the smokes to turn into ashes
and cash that turn into elixir and stashes.

Just a room for
the huge dreams
and endless thoughts,
the exquisitely simple designs
and no ways of their outcomes.

Just a room for
sitting alone and laying together,
standing alone and staring together,
burying milestones that count.

Just a room with
bull’s eye on the head
and cat’s eye on the ear.

All in all its just a room,
Is it enough or is it sufficient?
Is it a need or just the end?

Those Two Months!!!

These verses long back from sophomore-junior year transition when I had a major “Intern-slip”.

Its just two and a half that did the job,
standing, still, stark naked,
shivering shower with twinkling firebugs,
define my state of bleak.

Its just two and a half that did the job,
sitting, stiller, half peeled me,
with mushy eggs, crunchy chips and flat fret boards,
sound my bleak state to reality.

Its just two and a half that did the job,
the next day came after a week
with some smokes that made me weak
but still couldn’t light for my own.

Its just two and a half that did the job
A Diarum Black after a liter of water as luncheon,
endless was “The Rain Song”,
It was a call from my mom,
I tapped the ashes to find my lit Black gone,
Solitude, alone.

Its just two and a half that did the job,
Its just those two months and that’s all.