Sikkim walee chai

And how I remember chaar-so-teen,
Just a king, with many a queen.

And how the blue sofa was abused,
For love, for rest, to seat the muse.

And how the cracks in the wall weren’t just a metaphor,
Telling the story of doom, from long before.

And how the music room was the getaway of all time,
For strings, tears, for Neal Schon put to rhyme.

And how blistered fingers and sambhaji were the order of the day,
Not a thought of retreat, to change our way.

And how Pallavi was the perfect wife,
In times of flood and other such strife.

And how we were the weakest link,
Love’s labor lost, all etched in ink.

And how Kundera told our tale,
Anger and desperation, hung out for sale.

And how chaar-so-teen saw so much,
Bundled with love, loaded with lust.

…

But then I added one and a half of sugar, instead of two,
Surprisingly forgot I used to make it for you.