One fine Sunny Sunday in the month of
June, we played a match in the scorching
afternoon. First we ran for runs and then
for catch. Lazily we bowled and finshed the
match. And when the Sun held high in the
Bangalore town ,we decided to have Beer
on the cricket ground. Corona it was so yellow
and clear, like a mellow sunshine bottled in
form of beer. We raised our bottles, and some
their plastic cups. “Cheered” in chorus and
gulped the first cheering Bottoms Up.
“BurrRRrrr”, we howled and squeezed our
lime. The first bottle, the first one
we finished in no time.
The Second pint was smooth and slow.
The Only one who’s’ high was Joe. His eyes
Was fixed and voice numb as he frantically
went on scratching his bum. Ananth too hit
his guitar down , strumming “You spin my
head right round”. Sandy was quiet and
the only sober one, for he was used to drink
Old Monk rum. By and by we drank to the
Core, we counted the score, it was not one or
two nor three but Four.
As I was on a fifth bottle embark, Varun
snatched my drink and hurled his remark,
“Dude, What the Fcuk, this is not fare”,
that bottle not urs, that’s my share.”
“Jack are You ?” , i said, "I can see you through my
hazy funk, Gimme my drink ,am not so drunk”.
His parched soul then headed towards
Karthi ! But he said Sorry Macha, am sharing
my drink with Parthi. And when he was left
with none, He joined sandy with his old monk
rum.
We played a lot of prank, some I cant recall,
For my mind was tumbling under influence
of alcohol. Suddenly came with another bottle
Murali aana, I said,” Sorry brother, too much
Now, I don’t waana”.
At times I ponder, I am doing too much drinking,
So I advised my mind, better quit…….. Thinking.
I poemed this incident on that moment spur. I dint
knew I would mix beer and metaphor. I waked
the sleeping poet within me. Like Frost Robert
writes word and talks like a simile.
The deep were lovely dark like woods
For promised are broken for goods
And smiles to come whenever u drink…
And smiles to come whenever u drink…
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