You Lover-boy, Bombay.

In the rare quiet moment,

I sit by your sea.

Feel your humid whispers, 

on winter nights of hot shivers.

I believe your touch and think

You belong to me. 

Then.

There is a sound

desperately

turning into a 

cacophony. 

The red light has only

turned yellow.

And there's already 

a traffic of hearts

racing ahead to 

get a piece of you

greet you 

"Hello!"

Oh! My Beloved! 

You're such a charmer, aren't you? 

You belong to me and to her and her and her too. 

I'm welcome any time I want.

Get a taste of your delight.  

I can sleep on your bed

bask in your light. 

And soon its time. 

To leave.

And to leave behind the key.

To realize,

it did not belong to me. 

There is space to be made. 

I can come back later, 

when my dues are paid. 

Until then, there are many other takers. 

Conversation and love makers. 

Oh! My Beloved! 

Yet, you never fail to charm, do you? 

You never let me know what you are up to. 

How can I hate you? 

Your goodbye note is also so true,

without vile.

Even when I leave you, you make 

me smile. 

How can I love you? 

Your sweet charms are for 

everyone

to taste.

Every morning I have to make way

for your daily 

haste. 

Oh! My Beloved! 

You have the knack for it, don't you? 

You're not my lover, but I can't hate you too. 

I am like that fake, shining bridge 

hanging over your sea water. 

Hanging aimlessly. 

An exercise in the cheap display

of your power-play. 

Hanging endlessly.

A means to an end, a way

with a small price to pay. 

Oh! My Beloved! 

You are a true player, aren't you? 

You know so well how and what to make me do.

You make me drunk on your love,

fall on the floor. 

And after, when I'm hurting, 

You make me want to 

play some more!