I am a D major & She is a F sharp

I am D Major

 

I always started with a D major strum

She always whistled with the sweetest hum;

If only I can grab a harp

Coz my dear loves to play F sharp;

Our notes were way apart

We wanted to jam, she said “but, where to start?”

 

Cold feet and trembling heart

I hit the first chord – G Flat;

Her lips had the widest smile

Her dimple was deeper than a mile;

Her glow was brighter than ever

Guess I caught the love fever;

Holding the guitar close to her chest

She picked C Flat at its best;

 

The rhythm got us going

Chords and notes – all started flowing;

Our efforts were in vain

The melody was pouring like rain;

We had hit the connection

The first change was the passion

I have shed the obsession of D major

She smiled goodbye to F sharp

Better life waits – beyond stubbornness

The first change – all what matters

Now we look back to say

“I was a D major & she was a F Sharp”

Once a notion, now a goal, ‘Oh! My dear ambition’ – A Cactus story

Cactus Story

When my passion & ambition braces me tight, I pull out my pen and write a poem about it. How does it help? If not anything, I feel the connection strong and embedded. This is an electronic form of the ink that I scribed on a piece of tissue paper.

Roots, roots, roots,

A single lingering word in my mind,

Cant settle it, Cant spill it,

“How strong” if they ask,

 Its just a cactus, if I have no mask;

I need no nurture or rain,

My roots grow faster in draught and pain;

Deep beneath the sandy rust,

I find a treasure and I quench my thrust;

Once was the time,

when I shivered and stammered;

Now that its over,

I grow strong and bold;

Budding through my branches,

are little flowery ambition;

Once looked far fetched,

now it looks like a notion;

Million sobbing nights,

to mourn the flowers, who once glowed bright;

Through the sandy storms and scorching heat,

I am proud to have the strong ones survive;

Grew my thorns sharper,

when the times got tough and bleak;

All the time I called them a part of my soul.

Once a notion, now a goal;

‘Oh! My dear ambition’