12.5

Our federation consists of buildings, 13 to be precise,

We split our expenses by 12.5, in an attempt to be just and nice.

The flats in one of the buildings, are half as much as others,

It's only logical to bill them half, that's basic mathematics, brothers.

 

Within a building the logic falls short, the maintenance is flat,

Whether you live in a 2.5 or 3 BHK, you have to pay per the same diktat.

Some owners insist the maintenance bill, should be as per square foot,

Others who live on lower floors, to them lift replacement a point moot.

 

Each building has 3 EC members, which constitute the federation in form,

There are 39 members in total, but people have started clamoring for reform.

If 12.5 are the expenses, the 'half building' should have half reps,

How to divide a person in half, I'm slightly out of my depth.

 

12.5 or 13, I'm proud we live as one,

Supporting each other during trying times, hell may come.

Paradoxes

When it gets dark enough, you can finally see the stars,

One is so much more beautiful, with blemishes and scars.  

Distance makes it apparent, how strong is the underlying bond, 

You are naturally drawn to the moon, if you are confined to a pond. 

 

The old tree provides the shade today, to the saplings who are of limited use,

When you are wading through the poetic wasteland, you finally discover the muse.

Love finds its way with silent feet, when the heart has crouched, is all alone,

Only when you reach the nadir of your being, can you repent and sins atone.  

 

When sun lays down its arms at dusk, the occasion merits a heavenly hue,

The magnificence of nature manifests, when seen through the fragility of a dew.

The fire within burns strongest, when the other remains un-scorched,

Mere word play pierces like a poem, provided the message doesn't get botched. 

 

If you are worth labeling Handle With Care, you better be delicate and fragile,

Let my wounds fester and smoulder instead- for they can make you laugh and smile. 

A Solid Connection

When do you feel a connection, is it when you have spent enough time?

Or is it friendship-at-first-sight, the spark instant and sublime?

Why are our enduring friends, from college or school days? 

By spending time our office pals, should be best friends in that case? 

 

Professional bonds have a different vibe, help you grow and watch your back,

Can help you achieve and advance in life, but the warm fuzziness they lack.

Shared rituals give a new lease of life, I try to speak to my son at ten,

Connection deepens when we both carve time, can share anything man-to-man. 

 

There are friends unspoken, years have flown, yet we can pick from where we left,

Just a casual conversation is all it takes, to recover the intervening years' theft.

The friendship can run on auto-pilot, once we've sufficiently grown close,

It's too sublime a bond to conform, to curve between response and dose. 

 

I haven't spoken with you in ages, and I miss you my dear friend,

I'm sure we'll pour our hearts out, when we meet perchance on the next bend. 

Out Of Tune

I try hard to understand your poetry, you write in free verse,

I've to bend to rhyme and rhythm, my self-inflicted curse.

My composition has to fit in, in 14 lines to be precise,

You can meander, or stop short, be any shape or size.

 

 If I look all around me, what is rewarded or read,

You are playing with the form, rhyme and rhythm be dead.

You juxtapose vivid images, in metaphors mystery bake,

To satiate the modern thirst, traditions and meter break.  

 

By making my poems resonate, I'm committing a crime,

How can a nursery rhyme structure, carry a message sublime?

If we needed a rhyming poem, we would ask ChatGPT,

Your poems reek of the old era, what a shame, what a pity.

 

I've never really paid heed, to what dominates the Mehfil,

I write to touch you my readers, not to win prizes or coffers fill. 

Give Me Some Rain

Going through life, on cruise control,

The 6-lane highway, demands a heavy toll.

You are unconscious, on autopilot, you stop noticing stuff,

Can't stop and smell roses, or you'll be fined sure enough.  

  

Speed and more speed, the destination looms ahead,

If you get distracted by the dew, you'll most likely be dead.

Your vision gets narrowed, only the adjacent cars matter,

When you're comfortably cruising, there's no drive to be better.  

 

Imagine instead, you're stuck in a jam,

Life's at a crossroad, and a door did slam.

You are running low on fuel, your alertness sky high,

Frantically searching for the next exit, can't remain stuck and die.

 

There's no coming to consciousness, sans some misery and pain,

To get roused from the slumber, often requires a strong rain.

Being Pragmatic

Raised with a labor of love, with limited users to boot,

You nursed it with raw tenderness, but no one cares two hoot.

The product is only as good, as the market it captures and grabs,

Till you start generating revenue, the better it is, the more it stabs. 

 

Knowledge amassed, wisdom gleaned, without degrees to showcase,

Sans credentials you can't apply your skills, no one to argue your case.

The resume is only as good, as the JD it seeks to fill,

The only touchstone for learning, whether it can help pay the bill.

 

A slice carved out of your famished heart, not gluttoned by many,

In the daily ritualistic offering, does fast food make sense any?

The poem is only as good, as the prize you can savor and relish,

To win the contest at all costs, may leave you feeling hellish.

 

 I'm stuck in a state of stasis, can't move on, my love,

They say you are only as good, as the fate you can rise above.

A Waste of Time

50 years vanished, a waste of time,

Didn't dent the universe, didn't matter a dime,

Except for the few, who were touched for the better,

How far and long the ripples traveled, does it really matter?  

 

50 years looming, a poetic wasteland,

Writing mediocre poems, in sight no end.

Except for the few, that will pierce your heart,

Make you stop in your tracks, that's the lure of art.  

 

50 years reached, a milestone to celebrate,

Pretend to be happy, and smile at any rate.  

Except for the few, when the mask reveals the self,

You behold the beauty, of sensitivity you can't help.

 

Connection, and living-in-the moment, not to protect them would be a crime,

For the next 50 years I'll happily continue, nurturing them by wasting time.