Monday, February 23, 2015

Swift Wings

Swift Wings

When letters give beats and imagination sings.
No place is too far, as then you have swift wings.

You can hop from a pyramid, on to a leaning tower.
Lay in an oasis, or slip in a shower.

Start with suprabhat, and end with ciao.
Roar in a forest, or in an ally miaul meow.

Life becomes an improbable fascination.
When is lit up the instinct of illimitable imagination.

When letters give beats and imagination sings.
No place is too far, as then you have swift wings

by
Pradeep Soni

Thursday, April 19, 2012

KILL BILL

I write for pleasure and for money I draw.
It all is so awe.. (wait for it).. some I see no flaw.

The problem arises when I have to pay bills.
Every month end, pocket is like fish without gills.

Making ends meet is a financial jung.
Kisi mandir me jaakar bhagwan ki pooja karoon bhang.

Never comes a month when I can totally chill.
Hovering like a buzz kill is always a bill.

No wonder what I do I never get a raise.
My boss and colleagues say it is just a phase.

I say it’s a labyrinth an unsolvable maze.
Donkey chasing the carrot unending race.

Chalo ghar chalte hain mere bhai,
Is jivan me nahi badhegi kamai.

Lets drink a pint as we have some time to kill.
Psst… can you please pay my bill.

by
Pradeep Soni

Sunday, March 18, 2012

Of Human Sort!!

It's not about the win or the loose.
Nor about finding hidden clues.

It's not about a bat or a fancy hat.
Neither about an excessively elongated chat.

It's not just hitting or grabbing a ball.
Of no consequence is the size of it all.

It's not about an hour, a day or a week.
Neither about looking tough or sleek.

It's not about money or a chase or a run.
About jumping over or throwing a ton.

It's about a spirit, spirit of being alive.
Exclusive to human and of human sort.
A spirit which we call sport.

by
Pradeep Soni

Monday, October 3, 2011

A deal with you too


I am a sales man, sell is what I do.

I can sell anything to you.


True Is my story knows the lord.

The first thing I sold, was my umbilical cord.


I was making deals before I could stand.

I got through school by being in a crappy band.


Easy it was, to get through university.

They let me pass for hiding their atrocity.


In the real world soon I was a big man.

Every corporation was my fan.


I was selling stuff across the earth.

They took my word for my goods worth.


I convinced the Indians, the Taj Mahal was mine.

I was selling to the French their own wine.


I brought half the world with my treachery .

My new product was slavery.


Weapons are what I sold to the hungry crowd.

To the market I brought the mushroom cloud.


I am not dead but I live in heaven now.

Also, I own a mansion here don’t ask me how.


I work for the devil and am protected by god.

Beyond your wit is my fraud.


In sleep sometimes I can hear my little girl.

She says I brought the hell to the world.


I whisper back to her these words,

I am a sales man sell is what I do.

I can make a deal with you too.



By

Pradeep Soni

Monday, June 6, 2011

Me,My and Mine

Does it always have to be about you?
Is there anything that we two can't better do?

Why are we, so stuck with my?
Our ego has split water, land and sky.

Atom bombs and cheap guns,
This is what our selfishness has done.

A little share and a bit of care,
and life will no more be a nightmare.

I have made my point, and if you get it it's fine.
But please don't forget this poem is mine.

by
Pradeep Soni




Saturday, June 4, 2011

Underneath

If you shake the tree, a few words may fall.
Which ones to choose, will be your call.

You can feel proud if they rhyme
or make any sense.

But feeling proud is not what poets do,
their head is bent and they are looking
at their shoe.

Because underneath, is the dirt which they see,
that is what we all are going to be.

by
Pradeep Soni


Tuesday, October 5, 2010

No Regrets

She was with a friend, when we were out one night.
There was a spark, and the moment felt right.

I got bold and she was on fire.
She touched my lips and unleashed a desire.

Soon, she became every breath of mine.
With her, I was always on a smoky cloud number nine.

Every moment I craved for her,
Countless moments I saved for her.

Soon occurred to me, she had to go.
As I was reaping, what I did sow.

My friends and family parted with me.
As I was an addict and the reason was she.

Parting was difficult, difficult as hell.
But was ringing hard, the danger bell.

She left me with a longing, longing for more.
Often in desperation I went knocking, door to door.

Now when I see her touching someone else’s lip.
I feel her need and loose my grip.

I have to say it out loud, say it without regret.
I badly miss you my
CLASSIC ULTRA MILD CIGERETTE.

by
Pradeep Soni