Nostalgia

Wrote it some few days back. Reflects some of the contrasting times. Here is how it goes.

I sense something to scrawl tonight
The concealed yards of my galactic past
My first Aesop’s tale, reminiscent at last
Crimson wires and the purple tank
Somewhere I stand in the melancholic choir
A stolid face, a skeptic crowd
My first girl, her life aghast
A sobriquet, to emulate bustle in ire
I mask, I search, I walk with a lurch
As comrades of ruin we rule
Punch iron bars, shove sorrows afar
Red is he, me blue, we ride and without a clue
I’m cruel, I gallop, I’m in godly frenzy
Bounce on the rug of this holy shrine
And I scamper home, catastrophe I heave
To sweat in belligerence and dry in muse
I adore not these stars, they are inane
But I love this moon, when his face derange
I lie cuddled in the cushion of my snow
And when this serenity dies, I lay cold
But it’s is not a cry, I am aloof, we are poles apart.