My Blue Bag

I bought a blue bag
on my way to post office
with my aunt
to collect the things
that come sailing across the ocean

I hanged it around my shoulder,
(I love it)
here and there
as i walked
empty and vacant as my soul

Even while reading Bukowski
I remembered it
and thought how wud it be to carry
a quarter of cheap rum in it

i told my friend from sikkim
that i carried it even to grocery shops
she said she would never do it
and asked me to carry my harmonica in it,
an apple or a banana
or a diary and pen;
(but no to pen down this poetry for sure)
or a hanky to blow my nose
remembering the mother goose

I would still love to carry
it to the vegetables market
and fill it with tomatoes
and feel the weight of red

my blue bag is not fake
It got its blue from the sky
it got its emptiness from my soul
as i am a man in Nirvana
who has seen love
and known it is too easy to fall in love

my blue bag
I aint a sad story
lets pluck some flowers
for these streets of my feet

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