JBuzz

 

  Just like, dust in the wind, time has flown,

How much you know, you hardly, have known.

Flashbulbs, left stranded, with so much to take a gaze,

What the world has made of it, is just misery, at a snail's pace

 

  Neurons of Macs and Maes, melted in the simmering sub-prime,

No houses left with out a chase, all, slumbered to this coveted crime.

They burnt the midnight oil, at a price of 147

They lost it heavy, when it cruised to 37.

 

Crippled attempts of his, left him, with a stiff upper lip,

Futile measures of his, however held, his lungi, firm to his hip.

Man Mohan loves to hum, to the tunes of Madhanmohan,

To the compositions of his

Hinous, not a single, of his own.

 

  Karuna, never strum a chord, with the notes of Needhi,

Jaya cursing her verses, saying it's all her Vidhi.

UP, as usual left spell-bound, by the spell of its own Maya,

Amar, with his soft-throne-baron, follow their own laya.

 

 Maddof, sang his tunes, in line with the parikhs and Methas,

But Raju could only be heard, when Satyam was served, with Mytas.

Frosty flakes of Christmas, laid the land barren,

Censex when, from 21 to 9, tumble the mightiest of barons.

 

  Malya made hey, when the sun shone over IPL,

Today, he finds no buyers, when he is ready to sell.

Rattan, added two more, to his string of anmole rattans,

But hell broke lose on the Tatas, when Bhattacharjee, acted as Satan.

 

  From a Slum dog to a millionaire,

It touched every lady every man.

Shattered, they were, with grief and horror,

Galloping down, when came, the Rich-Puppy-Laymen.

 

  No more can you, run your own race,

They are all running, to cement their shelf space.

Had those, who, their face value, even their frowns have left their face,

Portrayed frames of grief, is being winning the race.

 

  Debited the P&L, and credited heaven,

With those, who lost, their lives on 26/11.

Loss, then, indeed, but gain in calm disguise,

Now, the times are such, they would have been left to despise.

 

  On the road of horizon, thy, promises of hope,

In the spilling age of turbulence, how easy, it is, to cope!

Through out the ages, they've been singing the blues,

Against the war of Vietnam, the rule of Nixon and Kennedy,

From the trauma of the holocaust, they've been writing the pages,

"Is this the world we created", sang, and left Freddy.

 

  It's that moment of our time, the most important, it holds,

1 month from now, again, we are going to the gallows polls.

Another tide of curse, waiting to his hard,

To find any holy graves, left to be cleansed, Oh, it's going to be hard!

 

  The day is not for us, to hold our faces grim,

The times are not for us, to fill the goblet, up to its brim.

Spirits, they serve, of different kind, may not be from 69,

Today, you, hold your stilts of memories, welcome to the home of nostalgic times.