Wild and witty, he rode the life;
Screaming aloud, that I’ll stab you with a knife.
Lots of hair, which he would never cut;
Least cared, if it was filth or dirt.
Lame and nasty, he played his part;
But in the close, it was tender heart.
Head's up and Chin's high, on every path;
But never in once, he showed his cruel wrath.
Broken was he, inside I always knew;
Broken winged bird, the higher he flew.
Smiled to fear and never knew tear,
Could not believe it was almost a year.
His eyes were moist and damp sometime,
But always he knew that his poems won't rhyme.
Mask of laughter, he wore everyday;
But truth his life was frowns and fray.
He danced to the troubles, from the very start;
Fought for love but was fallen apart.
Stood up straight and Strong again,
Although he knew his life was vain.
But in the end he always smiles,
And does not care for the broken tiles.
Happy was I, to get him along;
Friends we stay forever, Cause the life ain't long.
-Karan Kapuria