I want to be a writer, and spin a tale enticing.

I want to be a writer and keep this world gawking.

I want to be a writer and watch this world crumble.

I want to be a writer, must I be humble?

I want to be a bed time story, not a martyr’s book.

But do I really want to be, a faceless little crook?

I want to be an actress and watch this world sparkle.

I want to be an actress, the glamor and the awful.

I want to be an actress, I want to make them laugh,

make them cry, Make em weep,

Want, long, live, die, breathe.

I want to be an actress, I want it all for me.

But do I really want to be a Jane, a Jone, a Lisa,

A dutchess, a princess, a mistress or an actor?

Do I really want to dance for this Director?

I want to be an orator, and feel the crowd cheer.

I want to be an orator and watch their faces whilst they hear.

And hear of beauty, of poverty, of grief, of strife.

I want to be an orator; I want to feel those wings

Of those millions who applaud, talk of me as kings!

But do I really want to be at the mercy of some critique?

Who lives a life, telling everyone how to live it!

I want to be a leader, soar in all that power.

And look straight into those paupers eye’s

Who wants me my love to shower.

I want to be a leader, tall as Mount Dutchess.

I want to be a leader, not a standard I want less!

But do I really want to be left answerable to people?

Little people? Silly people? Argumentative people?

Greedy people? Filthy people? Dark people? Good people?

People?

I want to be that pauper, not a penny less not a penny more.

Just a fist full of dollars.

I want to be that pauper, that man you just ignored.

Because then I am everywhere and nowhere.

Everything and nothing.

I want to be that pauper, that face you just forgot.

Just a prig out of the lot.

But do I really want the rags and not the riches?

The damp dirty ditches?

But alas! I know what I want.

Immortality. Yes?

To be that bedtime story,

To be that body that seduced you,

That man who just moved you,

That crook that just duped you,

That mistress who just tempted you,

That wife who supported you,

That child who questioned you,

The mother that nurtured you,

The boss who hired you,

The god that inspired you.

I WANT NO MORE THAN EVERYTHING!

Inspiration: Daddy dearest and the movie, Nine! Watch

For the uninitiated, Limericks are 5 liners with rhyming pattern of aa bb a i.e the first, second and fifth lines follow similar rhyme with the second and third line following a different rhyme. Limericks were popular atleast during my teenage on account of their salacious content and humour. If the youngsters of today can enlighten me on its current status, I would be grateful.  
 

                                     I
There was a MP who slapped the manager of a bank,

Drunk with power, hiding behind his status and rank,

Caught on the camera, the whole episode he denied, 

On his own political clout as a SC/ST leader he relied,

Do we require such leaders? That is my question frank.

                                     II

And now, I hear even a High Court judge has sought,

Protection from Minister, whose loyalty is easily bought,

The quagmire, the muck, the corruption vile,

Makes me mad and angry, brings up my bile,

This is not the freedom for which our forefathers fought.

 
                                     III

There was a talk of Section 377 finally being abolished,

The age old law was definitely draconian and ghoulish,

With great enthusiasm, out came the gay pride,

Only to realise that they have been taken for a ride,

The Govt is scared of its vote bank being demolished.

 
                                     IV

Religion, caste, creed, region, ethnicity – our people divide,

On being Indians foremost there seems to be lesser pride,

Spurred on by politicians for their selfish personal gains,

To differentiate ourselves into sub groups we take pains,

When will the people of my country stem this rotten tide?

A young truant leader carrying the Gandhi name,

Thought of minority bashing as gateway to fame,

The Election Commission did get hold,

Of a CD containing his statements bold,

Now the country understands Varun’s double game.

                                     II

In India, politics and elections make strange bedmates,

Leaders willing to ally given right incentives and rates,

Corrupt farmer, an errant teacher, a fodder chor,

Criminals, convicts and a circus of many more,

For being elected once more, all are the prime candidates.

                                     III

Then there was this very smart and pretty looking dame,

For getting married, she changed her religion and name,

Under pressure her political paramour ran for cover,

Without even the courtesy of telling her it’s all over,

She believed her politician would stand up, O what a shame.

                                      IV

A tin pot dictator of an Asian country small,

Produced mujahideens to aid the Soviet fall,

This group into a monster grew,

Into its fold all fanatics it drew,

And is consuming the country and its people all.

Romanced by great Indians, by our Mahatma conceived,

Lady D’Cracy by others has been cheated and deceived.

The Lady has become the rich and powerful Indian’s keep,

Born 15^th of August 1947, her status today makes me weep.

Her adoring but naive suitors have been fooled and ravaged,

Her beauty, her ideals, her concerns torn apart and savaged.

Every 5 years there has been a chance to set the things right,

Restore D’Cracy to her rightful status, ensure a destiny bright.

But her innocent and foolish fans, they have ignorantly slept,

Whilst corrupt fingers on her pure innocent soul have crept.

This time around, we all must wake up and stop her plunder,

Realise that to leave her in corrupt hands would be a blunder.

I wondered at the magnificence of the pier in eighteenth century made,

And thought why its beauty with passage of time does not seem to fade.

The pier stood proudly with iron legs embedded in waters oh so blue,

And the docks below came alive, spoke to me and offered some clue.

“Glorious ships, men and action I have seen” to me the old pier spoke,

Heroes and beautiful ladies as well as dastards who went plain broke.

My heart holds enchanting tales of success and defeat, sorrow and joy,

Many untold stories of romance and grandeur, of the great days gone by.

The grand and splendid memories of yore make me evergreen and gay,

The reminiscences of yesteryear act like magic, keeping old age at bay.

In every life and form, our meeting was to be due. 

Meet, befriend, love and be together in every life,

But this time you chose to be someone else’s wife.

Through different times we have nurtured this pact, 

And met in different lives, that’s an irrefutable fact.

For you my beloved, I have fought glorious wars,

And our name and fame had spread wide and far.

You were a princess and me an infatuated slave,

Contrary to the royal decree, for you I did crave.
Our covenant held true and when you  came to me,

Killed for love in that life, we were destined to be.

And once, a poor farmer I was who tilled the land,

Everyday you brought me lunch, fed me by hand.

Together we eked out a living from the fertile soil,

Happy and content, the whole day we did toil.

Throughout this life I have sought you far and wide,

Now that we met, by our covenant you must abide.

You are citing reasons, limitations and obligations,

And breaking our covenant without real justification.

This life is different, my endearments you don’t brook,

Violate all vows of togetherness you and I once took.

Covenant, promises, love, eternity don’t mean a thing,

You only look for security and comfort this life can bring.

Grant me a wish, let us meet once again I pray,

Let us keep the covenant even if only for a day.

Like cats hissing and spitting in an alleyway dark,

Or dogs who snarl, growl and at each other bark.

With a feral, ferocious, unholy intensity we fight,

Trying to annihilate each other with all our might.

Of what use is this fierce battle, this pointless war,

                      Where both you and I are the losers by far?

Do soul-mates never fight ?