My Soup Song

Writing about myself, I thought was difficult.

Not until I configured I was more reluctant.

Know thy likes and dislikes, the true self that lays beneath,

Prise open the shell, for there is so much hidden wealth waiting to bequeath.

A piece of advise from those wise men, don’t write to impress,

For, men with the gift of the written gab never can suppress.

So there I was with this dichotomy; it is not to be or not to be,

But to display the real self I always want to be.

Not a flirt, not a romeo, not a chocolaty-lover boy,

But a dependable, monolith who cannot sink but always remain buoy.

Not a nerd, not a thick-rimmed bookworm, not a coconut oil mane steam ironed,

But someone who lets it loose, to care not about which way it flowed.

Thousand words of nothing or a few phrases which Mastercards shy,

World peace to two-piece, an objective discussion even on the fly.

Ever in day dreams for the night is too dark to retain the spark in the dream,

To build a castle, travel the world, leave a legend and let go off some steam.

So is it a skill to wear thy love on the sleeve, for passers-by to take note,

Or reserve all the gangajal vacuum packed in an urn, to unleash in all brute force, to that right one..

Is there a plan, well laid out, that our folks, cousins and friends used to head-start,

That I want to replicate and get a lady who can nestle the longings of the heart.

Approach it formally, said an angel from my mind-voice,

So like Ambi, will I write an application in A4 with double line space?

Actually more to it than meets that ‘space’.

Interviews they are, putting the best foot forward, trying to be yourself & still impress sneaking a little glimpse,

Making the roles & responsibilities clear, to set foot on the voyage with thy accomplice.

Multiple roles are there on offer, care giver and taker, in the long journey together,

To take on the bumps in the road, without a spot of bother.