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Did you just ask what is irony?

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The Last Restaurant Bill

The restaurant smelled rosy fresh,
On Valentine’s Day, we four-a family:
Enjoying the A.C. and the finger-licking food,
Sat gossiping at the brown candlelit table.

Soon, we’re finished
My brother already playing with the spoons;
As the waiter came with a grin,
Holding a wallet-looking thing with a paper in it.

Yes, it was the time of bill:
Payments always made me turn,
Daddy, I always searched for him
But nowhere could him see I.

Mom took out the amount and paid,
2 minutes latee came dad from the W.C.
Giving angry baffled looks to mom,
Yet she was giggling, I knew the next happens now ‘ready.

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Nerdy love: Pyaar mein computing

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He is a poetry showing pain,
The poem goes deep into the grief,
Where he hides his scars;
And those scars interweave themselves to form a smile of his face
But those scars still come out in a piece:
Because every person is a poetry.

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I grieve not over my past that brings
hues of darkness in my life;
I simply enjoy in the present
borrowing solitude from the past,
that years ago buried its dead
in the coffin I never saw.
come on, I was a kid then
going near coffins was terrible.
but someday, when I neared its burial,
fears came rushing in my mind,
then I saw a bright light there
on which written was "future".
from then, my future rests in peace
and my present kills me inside,
with the past being its knife.

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Rough Palms

Once touched I my father’s hands,
The ones which could conquer all lands.
Was I left mystified,
Though all the hardships were justified.
From using shoe polish to make my shoes shine,
Was I when a kid, my world divine;
To going to supermarket with my mother,
Returning holding bags like no other.
Yes, he and me snore when asleep,
But his sounds more scary as is a bomb-full heap.
The palms which shower care and love,
They are so rough, contradictory to Dove!

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Reflections

Reflections exist in sooth, they’re licensed to;
Real is not what may it seem.
Faces are double so are images,
Dependent both are on the viewer’s view.

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Complaint box: A subjective opinion
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Quest

Some things are delightful,
Some things sorrowful.
Some things are real,
Some things fake.
Finding happiness is one’s main aim.

Some silence is deafening,
Some silence quietening.
Some silence is too loud,
Some silence inaudible.
Finding peace is not a work of rest.

Some light is dark,
Some light bright as lark.
Some light is aureate,
Some light crepuscular.
Finding insight of God is a major quest.

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