BOUGAINVILLEA

Life fleets by
Slowly and morose
And a little incomplete
Without tracing
The secretive lanes
Of Ganesh Ganj.
I wait like a pained patient,
At the scene
Of some tragic accident,
Who must bear the pain
For another span
Until the remedy is met
By the capable hand.

Some separation
I must admit,
I do feel when there is
No scope for a visit.
Then, I feel the pain
And recall the blank space of
Where there's silence today.
Where pools of Bougainvillea await,
To unite with
The scent of Marijuana,
And commentaries of carrom-
And tartaric acid of grapes-
At the room on the roof.
In our shrine of slumber;
My beloved Ganesh Ganj.