This is a good day to curl up at the porch
Drink from my wine goblet, write a few verses
Clean up after, light up a smoke and simply die
What else would such serenity bring, a tropical Kerala Summer
Unlike the Mumbai version, where I have no porch or garden
The sitting gallery, filled with four chairs and a table
Are possibly the best aspect of a Keralite's life
The okra sour curry taste lingers in my mouth
It is not the taste of the tamarind or the stew
I was chopping Okra last night as I was in confession
Only to discard my broken heart along with the tips and tops
Hey, it is nine degrees lesser than your sunny view
A telemarketer tries selling insurance, citing a death or two
It is perfectly worthless, to imagine my life amounts to much
I don't value it now, but then nor do you
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