Best Bunking Poems

Too little 
too late
God said to me 
in this dream I had about fate

So I asked him 
what did he expect, 
A goody two shoes 
a prophet 
a saint 
to be something I ain’t 

Not at all he said 
I want to be entertained 
Eternity...

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Brassy Barry’s boastful bumbling Brana Bull 
Badgered Billy’s bashful buffoonish Baboon 
Into baking a boisterous Blackberry Bisque 

Beyond bunking, Barry’s brave babysitter 
boldly bellowed brashly.

Bonafide bamboozlement boasted Brana Bull’s bed buddies.
Beyond bothersome boneheads, Billy Baboon’s buzzards bawled

Baboon’s beautiful baked bonne bouch betwixed buddies and beasts
beautifully,...

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army, bunking buds
good days, drowning deep before my eyes
never to sleep a sleepless night again
God resting every sobbing soul,
His head up high, 
like a horseshoe hanging low, 
I remain, lucky!
falling wounds, under my dearest darkest days
no where to go and hide 
 Death will find...

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Tears in the eyes
When my school began
Willing to go to home back
That time, the only place of heaven
A small child doesn't know much
What are books and what is school?
Just like that, I was unable to realize
That its very beautiful...

With span of time it brought
Some different...

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It's true
Bunking its task
in the blue sky
Golden sunshine
Lies down morose
In sorrow
Laying its head on the tree trunk
Looking pale
It surprises me
As I see it smeared
With ashes of fear
All over its countenance
Will he too be raped and murdered
Like the hapless Rohingyas
Fleeing their home country
In utter misery
In spite...

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gone are those carefree days,
gone are those wild days where never bothered about the consequences,
had a care free attitude,
time has come to say good bye to my last year,
as i enter the college i felt have suddenly grown up
i have a responsibilty now,
gone are those...

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The nineteen 80's




Early eighties was my sweet teens,
as I could see every thing in greens,
College canteen and vegetable patties,
Oh my youthful eighties !

Remember those days of bunking classes,
late night parties and clinking of glasses,
Old movies and handsome heroes,
Exam days and highly probable zeroes,

Writing letters was...

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Familys complaining can ya hear em?
Uncle larry's probaly gonna puke dont get near him.
I kinda messed up sight.
Someone get Bobby Joe outthe street cause ya know he aint bright.

Christmas kinda blows around here.
So toss me a bottle and crack a beer.
Hey did anyone know how...

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P  Post-truths are words designed to mislead us
O  Obviously, yet "facts" that are appealing.
S  Some are political; some petty; why fuss?
T  Talking points survive, despite de-bunking.  

T  Time has come to bid post-truth a goodbye;
R  Right thinking minus...

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My Dream of Life

A life we used to dream about, the life full of adventure..
Trying new stuff everyday, no worries about the future.. 
That time, happiness lied within the play ground..
Riding bi-cycles, blowing gums, making too much sound... 
Yelling at those people, passing by
Whoever gets...

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With her pet toy in hand and playing,
In mother’s lap, a strange smile lurking,
To her lullaby whilst listening, 
Eyes on Ma, at last succumbs to sleep,
Here’s happiness for me sound asleep.

Their heavy school bags left way aside,
Uniforms too thrown on whatso side,
Back from bunking class,...

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Should we forget about freedoms.?? And accept some
Pre-doms? Like a pre-bunking' so childlike and clunking.'
Breaking structure much nomen-less clutter..' A nonsense of
Pre-sense..' showing credentials quite useless.' Artificial
Utopia advertizing a visionary myopia.' Its peonies and
Pretzels to supplement 'word salad' utensils.?? With Kids flying
Killer drones..' we must...

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It was almost at the middle of my teen-age days,
When mind, like a horse without bridle, found rough ways;
Inner laissez-faire, like snake in dilapidated crack, set in,
Legs, the way they found, aimlessly, anywhere broke-in;
Parents and relatives resembled villains, who gave me grief,
Warnings of elders seemed...

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The first line my father drew
And all my freedom threw
No going out after eight
Or there’ll be a lock on the gate
My teacher drew the second line
Bunking college is not fine
Algebra and geometry are a must
Do not let your books go to dust
The third line was...

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I could find my child, who's a butterfly lover,
Often bunking school granting many a reason;
Knowing her mad love, over the air to hover,
I allowed her to continue with no treason...
	
Having decided to find the reason from her
When, finally, persuaded her to open up;
Observing sage-like silence...

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