Perspective

A thread.
Hanging white and lone - nipped in the bud
From a sleeve, who's colour is soaked in blood
Blood pouring from where the head used to be

The head lies a foot away
Severed off brutally with woodcutter's ware
Fear filled eyes and tufts of pulled off hair
Forensics will come and find a fingerprint

The print, it was she
It was she who seperated brain from spine
It was a murder in cold blood, so divine
The bouquet she had brought - a grim sobriquet

A flower.
He never thought it through when he deflowered her
Now rape has got its just desserts plus more
The scar on her thigh hurts as she runs away

Scarred.
A tarnished mind manifests into a thirst for death
Ready for her "session" with held breath
Beneath the bed lie cobwebs of a lost life

Cobwebs and the dust settle
On a dark past that mutilated the present
The blow - the libido of evil falls silent
And she lay satisfied, in suicide.

That Hit the Spot

Oh! Man! That Hit the Spot!
The feeling that awakens the stomach butterfly
The feeling you get when you down a vodka shot
We love that feeling - we don't know why

Like a bowlful of Chopsuey after Mafco Hookah
Like the new bike your dad just bought
Like giving Mr. Asshole that well-deserved Mukkha
Like every time... That Hits the Spot

Watching Zaheer uproot all three sticks
Reaching the Snake score no one's ever got
Getting the attention from all the chicks
Just some of the stuff that hits the spot

I drive my parents to the point of "Hari Om"
Doing keedas in class then getting caught
Staying nights with friends and never going home
No matter where we are - that will Hit the Spot

Dedicated to all the people I LOVE chilling with... you guys have made Mumbai SPECIAL!!!

P.S. Thanks to Akhil Rajani for the title

Bloodsport (inspired by the attacks on Sri Lankan cricketers in Pakistan and by Jai's latest blogpost on www.zaiu.wordpress.com)

Blood spills down the arm
That most men wished they had
And the scream he lets out is
Chillingly similar to shouts after a victory.

The whole world watches
As a gentleman's sport oozes blood
The field becomes a battlefield
With the spirit of sport at the losing end.

The wars of religion have scarred
The one religion left to be affected
A passion hurt, excitement shot in the head
We now live in fear of playing a game.

The warning's out; the time has come
The ball is in our court; our pitch...
Stand up - we have to drive the point home
You made a mistake by messing with OUR sport...

Winter Always Turns To Spring (Thank you Taru Aunty)

Drops turn to ice as in my palms
In my brain, does memories it bring
And the heartfelt warmth must melt them all
Cause winter turns itself to spring

My life started off as inch-deep snow
The cold that in its depth would sting
The cold that froze me up for life
But winter always turns to spring

Hardships like the strike of frozen ice
A song of pain, I would alone sing
Slowly to melt 'cause of your love
And winter always turned to spring

Then February came, blew in the winds
Setting me free, giving me wings
All the weight that childhood bore
Where winter always turned to spring

If today, I live a life, it's cause
The heat manifested off our meeting
The day I knew you, saw me through
And turned my winter, to a spring.

(To all my friends who turned my winter to spring)

WOW

Ummm this is the first ever tribute to my work... & TRUST me its better dan da original...
THNK U ANISHA URE THE BEST!!!
http://cranialrumblings.wordpress.com/2009/02/28/wait-thanks-angad/
READ IT GUYS!!!