Of Mri's dressing sense.
I'm fan of her hair though.
The number of birds
That can nest in her curls-
She can revive two-three
endangered species.
For the English Teacher
she is and The P.E.T teacher
who might object my interest-
I'm more afraid of her
tendency to correct
my grammar-
So she can't be my muse,
As she's a grammar nazi.
Jaison, my man, I wish
You were my homie-
The corporate coolie,
Who writes love poems
for grannies-
I would teach you the tricks
Of Laal Salaam and
The cocktails that come
When one is totally
Unhinged-
But you can't me my muse
as you aren't a true comrade
of God's own country.
And ohhh my dear bhanji.
Cylindrella, Dri.
The wannabe patakha,
But Lil Momta di.
I wanna rhyme you
The way you dance.
But you're too cute
for the cruel world.
But keep practicing
your witchcraft on
Dolls.
You can't be my muse
Because I'd be
called Epstein.
Well..well. well- Aditi.
How are you still part
Of Brahmin community?
Our rants and joint
poetic blasphemy screams
you're just perfect.
It's tempting to say
Only if I were younger
or you were older-
But that would be gay,
As I recognise in you
a potential weenie.
You could be my muse
despite that but
'Bulldozer', says CM Yogi.
I could go on about
other but no one is
age appropriate.
I could say my muse
is me but I'm ugly and
narcissistic.
So I shift the blame on
my Kumbh mein bichada bhai-
Yo nikamma admin,
add to the group,
A millennial babhi.