A smile like that of Mona Lisa,
or death like that of the Romeo.
Miles to go with Robert Frost,
To travel the road taken by him.
The poster of The Beatles on wall,
With chords lying on the table.
Art that cuffed me with a balloon,
To let me fly without wings.
Paintings that tell me that to fly
you don’t need anything but a heart.
Fictions that make me skip a beat or two,
And leave we with hiccups too.
I forgot to call my therapist
Dipping my brushes in shades of white,
I shout I love you for a 50 and a third times.
My Mom calls me to come home soon
As I play ‘let it be’ on my uke.
It is like summertime nimbu pani,
And the masala chai of winters.
It is like you lighting your Marlboro.
It is like taking a shower before bedtime,
And walking in the rain at the same time.
It is not always like songs of Bob Dylan.
Sometimes it ends in the middle
Of a sentence,
Of a brush stroke,
Of a musical note.
It just ends leaving you hanging
Cuffed in your balloon
To complete your journey.
You are already flying.