Thursday, April 16, 2009

Early Bird

The early birds are no more music,
The folded newspaper has peculiar smell,
The fresh air too cold for lungs,
The soft sun brings no smile,
Morning Prayers, there are none.

I see myself ready for school
with shining shoes and nails clipped
An ironed uniform on limp shoulders
with bag full of lessons learnt.

This torturous time will meet its end
when i start my very own life.
My childhood thinks and curses,
the wretched bus, never failing to arrive

I want to tell him, 
How, it does unfold
But I stop myself and hold.

I can't invade little dreams,
I can't tear the drawing notebook,
with geometrical mountains and hut.
Letting Life happen , I goodbye myself, 
On the wretched, rickety bus


TinTin said...

kavi vipul, bohot bae poet banoge aap


really touching poem

Avenues_Rocks said...

Superbly written...
Cud connect d dots !!!
Becksaa !!!

Anonymous said...


Aise mat karo bhai, kuch enthu laao life mein.. there might be a lot of things at Jodhpur.. goto a village.. alone.

Ghar pe khaali rahoge to aise hi vichaar ayenge.

Vipul Goyal said...

@ Tin Tin, Vipin, Avenues- Thanks guys for ur kind words

@Anonymous- Life is full enthu, Jdpr rocks with lots of places, I have been to many villages alone.

Vichaar tab bhee aate hai :(