I’m usually whistling, or humming a tune
as I walk past these nothing establishments
which refuse to speak to me.

I am compelled to entertain myself.
I indulge in whims, from delivering
knock-out jabs to releasing albums.

After many wishful meanderings
I somehow land on the Beatles,
which makes me want to think of you.

Ever since you sang the Beatles,
I want to hold your hand and
love you, eight days a week

A howling dog brings reality check
And I find myself amidst acquaintances
exchanging meaningless pleasantries

And then I see you. This is it.
Oxford definition of ‘meant to be’ will now
be supplemented with a real life event.

This is Jesus saying ‘seal the deal’ son.
I’m an atheist, but I speak to God
in moments like these. It’s convenient.

What a glamorous glamorous victory.
I’m Joe DiMaggio hitting the home run.
I’m Schumacher crossing the finish line.

In my mind, I’ve made sweet love to you and
wedded you and our son just won’t stop crying.
But you’re just fucking buying fruit

Mohit is a LSD member and has been dabbling with poetry. Read more of his work here.


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