This is how I heard it

Don't look at me that way. I'm not born mad. No, I am not.

Yes, I do scream at the top of my voice, for this, that and everything. But, I do it particularly well only when I'm exceedingly frustrated, amongst other times when I do it for the fun of it or some silly thing of that stupid sort. That genuinely beautiful woman sitting next to you, nor the perfumed pervert sitting next to her, and not any ugly swan down the lake, nor any cute little pig nearby the gutter, none of you give a damn about me. As if I care! Intact, I quite hate you guys being scared of me to look cute to your girlfriends or acting brave for them when you are actually scared of me.

And please ask your girlfriends to stop feeding me the food they are supposed to have. It is cliched, and not cute anymore. I would make a sincere request to you all, to not even imagine of pitying me. I don't expect any warmth from your bloody breed-- the warm-blooded bodies with cold-blooded minds. You please be bothered about the warmth and wars amongst yourselves, in the first-place. And, yes, I can win my own food, the hard way that I've learnt, or die hungry instead, though I still do run behind your semi and super luxury cars, and I know that irritates you, like hell. But, that is how my screwed up head's wired, making me think anything that is running away from me is my Goddamn prey. But, its ridiculously easy for you to ignore my innocence, isn't it? You throw stones at me, and give bones to your belt-wearing bitch. Please continue doing that, sir.

I should admit, it indeed gives me an extraordinary pleasure when you are really scared of me, though. Go pray, for you ought to play prey to my ego, now on. Another dirty look or a fucking stone my way, I'm going to bite your ass off you, you son of a woman!

Goodbye

On the other side,
of those glass boundaries,
they are all there,
the founts of my best memories.

Guess I am carrying
the passport, the passes,
and all I would need,
but not the willingness.

I can feel the vacuum,
all around and within.
What am I missing?
Well, everything!

They are all waving,
my memories' founts,
from there beneath,
those wide glass bounds.

I wave back to them,
and everything blurs out,
as my eyes get filled,
I can hear them shout.

I stand still, wondering,
'why cant we all be together',
as time and the crowd
go hell for leather.

Another look at them,
my best memories,
I can see myself,
on those glass boundaries.

Dear 10

You drive me crazy
You cut me loose
You sweep me off my feet
Never let me choose

[..just unbelievably glorious stuff from the little master.. ]

I have a conscience,
I’ve learnt some science,
And theory of probability too,
In the time you let me to.
Yet I staunchly believe,
In an Almighty soul.
Who else, dear Ten,
You never let me choose.

[..like a rampaging river.. unnnstoppable.. Wooh! That's a wookie-pookie! ]

I neither know you much,
Nor owe you as such,
On personal fronts,
Or material grounds,
But, quite often, dear Ten,
May be moronic, and ironic,
That out of all, to me,
Ten comes before 9.

[Crowd roaring .. "Sacheeen.. Sachin..".. (3 claps).. ]

Coz you just drive me crazy
Cut me loose
Sweep me off my feet
And never let me choose

[..I run out of superlatives now.. can just say I feel absolutely privileged to be watching this.. ]