to crib....

Cribbing bout pressures which lead to a certain or a string of failures seems so absurd at times, yet so common a practice for others. Often it so happens, cribbing is a personal choice you succumb to rather than choose. He has been around guys with a theory behind everything, even failures which they knew was inevitable. He couldn’t be one of them. He wasn’t even the guy who would go for a kill and win his success; though talented he was in his own way. But then, the talents defining him were useless without the zeal to go on. All he had was a natural talent to “move” on. He was the wine and everyplace he went was his unholy grail.



A sojourner without a mission,

A scavenger without an ocean,

A gypsy without a band,

A stubborn waste without a helping hand,



He moved from place to place,

Searching for a certain kill,

Sliding down emotions,

And time stood still.



Mission bell too loud,

Yes, he has a mission,

Yet nothing to make him proud.

Suicidal gypsy and an ardent scout.



Smoky minutes and fluid nights,

Sudden shudders and flight of frights.

The question still haunts,

“Do I deserve what I sight?”



The present wears a smile,

A bit too fragile,

Weeds on his coming dawns,

While half lit memory haunts.