My humour is Wasted on You

I was reading funny poems
And wondered if I could write one
That's why I picked the pen and paper
But now ideas I have none.

Should I write about the Rivers Known?
Or The Wanderer's great expeditions?
But isn't the Little Girl Lost? The Wanderer gone for a walk?
On what am I to base this huge sensation?

Should I write about bluetooth-enabled zits?
Or would arse-kissing bees work wonders?
I was thinking about incorporating pirate humour
When suddenly all thoughts split and lay asunder!

For I heard a distant muffled cry
Darn! It's he who's calling
It's the hysterical Chicken Little again
And dammit! The sky's falling!

What do I do? Where do I go?
There's no place to run.
And what'll happen to my poem?
The blessed thing is still undone

The blasted sky was falling fast 
I ran hither-thither and I ran helter-skelter
 The only that still wasn't in sight
Was a blessing in disguise- a shelter!

I could find no way out
I cried, I shouted, I wailed but in vain
 And in the midst of all this commotion
The poem was all but forgotten

Now death was approaching and I was helpless
And my nails I began to nibble
But then I realised- It wasn't the sky that was falling. No.

I had just pulled up the hood of my Lamborghini Gallardo  Convertible 

 Anyways: Now I've decided to give up poetry
And my attempt at humour too
What is the point of writing anything,
When my humour is wasted on you!

____________________________________________________________

Author's note: The due credit of the title of this post goes to 'Rhea'lity who keeps lamenting about how her 'humour is wasted' on us lesser mortals.

As for the fact that this might have been the  lamest poem you've ever read...well, blame it on my holidays! I have nothing to do and ideas just don't strike you like Pathan's sixes when you do nothing apart from watching IPL matches and sleep.

An Ode to Friendship (a Clerihew gone horribly wrong)

(This picture, copyright: Anubhav Pradhan, has been put up here as a celebration of the institution where I met all the wonderful (no pun intended!) people mentioned in the post.)

Author's note: Yes, I know I always include the author's note at the end of my posts but considering the 'sensitive' nature of this post, I've decided to include it before the post! First and foremost, I want to apologize to Mr. Edmund Clerihew Bentley, for it was he who invented the whimsical four-line biographical poem with irregular lengths and an AABB rhyme scheme (courtesy: Wikipedia). It was after reading this post on Aniket's blog that I decided to write some Clerihews about my friends (I have written some before, but never really kept a record of them). Now, I suppose this recent attempt went horribly wrong and I don't know if the following verses can be qualified as Clerihews, but what the heck! Just put them all together and it becomes a poem! Now people (especially the ones mentioned in this piece, their respective bfs and gfs ('cause it's the 'better' halves I'm more scared of), and their well-wishers (if there are any!)), before you go ahead and read the piece and before my inbox is flooded with hate-mail and perhaps even a few threatening ones, I want you to realise that this post has been written in good humour and is intended to be read the same way. If you happen to get offended by whatever you read down there, just keep your mouth shut and bang your head on the wall (you can even scream in your pillow, or anywhere else for that matter, as long as the sound doesn't travel to me) and never talk to anyone about this. Further, these are MY views so you cannot draw any stupid conclusions or weird interpretations.

Ah! Now that we've got those considerations out of the way, let us come to the better part- the poem itself-

An Ode to Friendship

Debabrat Sukla, the Ladies’ Man
Came up with a master plan
He wanted to get six-pack abs
And thought that he’d look fab
But sadly, the plan backfired,
For his diet consisted of only kebabs!

Komal Khulbe, that pretty girl
Would twist and twirl, swoosh and swirl
And walk the streets with elan
Hand in hand with Sukla- her man!

Falak Fatima, the staunch feminist
Wasn’t afraid to use that iron fist
But sadly, when one day Tariq bore the brunt
That was the last she ever led from the front!

Rhea Srivastava, is quite like lava
Trust me buddy, you don’t wanna cross her.
Queen of sarcasm, difficult to comprehend,
Epitome of weird-ness; simply speaking- my dearest friend

Sandipon,
No! The name doesn’t rhyme with porn
He, as we know, is one lost character
Sutta and Daaru is all he’s after!

Abhishek Chauhan,
Woah! What a man!
Is there a fight going on around?
Call him and see them all fall down!

Kamal Kishore... Jon 
Stalking everyone on the phone.
Please make sure you don’t give him your number
Or he’s sure to wake you up from your slumber.

Anubhav Pradhan, a self-appointed squire
Of the city-of-djinns (It’s what he desired!)
His organisational skills are quite well-known
Till date, that farewell is what everybody mourns


Samarth Chandola, a self proclaimed ba****d,
Becoming a tyrant and womanizer were dreams he fostered
All day he would repeat- BTW and BTW
And before you figured what that meant, he’d bid adieu!


Snigdha Jain, the midget?
With her, dare you fidget!
She’s bound to dissect you and then scrutinize.
For this is one dame you just don’t catechize.

Kriti Sharma, the ever-bored
Is, by her own wits, floored.
She never knew she could come up with this
But now that she has, she feels eternal bliss.


Author's note 2: This poem was also posted on facebook because of some dreadfully lethargic slothful procrastinators (yes, I know they're all synonyms!) who just won't click on this link to read the post here. All the comments that this post garners there will be reproduced (in full and without editions) here.