Al-Gult Magic: Maddening Love & Lemon Soda (Diary of a Perfectionist Rascal)

Ever had your brain wires short-circuit at five past four in the morning? This is what happens when you mix five cups of black coffee, a finicky mind obsessed with cleanliness, and the deep, haunting mystery of someone who went silent. From sweeping up dirt with a green broom to overthinking Mitchell Starc’s bowling line-up, this poem captures the raw, chaotic, and beautiful madness of a heart that refuses to forget. Pour yourself a cup of lemon tea and dive into the overthinking mind of a loving rascal trying to find an open window across the seven seas.

Version. Manoj Coffee Madness or Was it Lemon Soda/Tea?

All night long when you cannot sleep,

Thinking about where she might be:

What's she doing? What clothes she's wearing?

What did she eat and what books did she read?

Confused, overthinking, brooding over, over and over,

To find out what's happening. 

Despite knowing your head cannot give you the right answer,

Because you haven't seen her in a while,

No contact number,

And no friends give you any updates on what's happening,

You drank five cups of black coffee,

And then discover why you have sleep difficulties. 

Well, was it caffeine or was it short circuiting brain wires,

Hoping to find an answer when no data was previously fed?

Is that love or some madness? Is that madness love?

Or was love always so maddening

That you wake up five past four AM to write a poem

About what you cannot remember? 

Because you haven't seen Yellow-Green, White or Black,

Or Red-blue perhaps,

Then you are an old pic with some yellow in it—

Was God is able 💛

Was the yellow colour on Starc's color the mis...sing clue?

Well, he has so many five-wicket hauls. 

Mind tells me what's so new,

Tomorrow morning again, with three vertical red stripes on a shirt so white,

Mitchell may come out to shake the world

Of little-little Dhaka players so cool.

Well, he could do it any day for he was trained among the best,

But what will Dhaka do to calm the stark storm when they get out to face him again? 

Yesterday, I wasn't watching the game,

I cleaned the room with a green broom all day,

For the painter had left it dirty as it could get.

And, my finicky mind won't hold back to make things clean,

For hygiene and cleanliness are in my gene—

How amazed I was when my cream colour shirt was drenched in sweat. 

Was it turning yellow or white was best?

Even the yellow notes in the front pocket gave me solace,

For I thought the evidencer had no other work

But to inform her that I didn't still eat Al-fahm,

But stuck with Kebab at its best.

The cold I drank did not suffice, for the mind needed some Lemon delight. 

Lemon soda was sufficient is what all the neighborhood felt,

But I insisted on more and more of Love divine.

Drank a full cup lemon tea followed by coke in their sight—

Many felt this guy is crazy as it could get,

Some shook their heads and others went to find a new way,

For the Al-Gult has her messed up mind. 

Keen to punish my little errors for she feels I'm not perfected yet,

Though the psychometry said: "Living soul, your husband has perfectionist traits."

Maybe, I became a perfectionist to please her soul,

Or maybe love's desire is making me obsessed to the core.

I just left it now into Almighty's hand,

For Pater Hemon would know what she's wearing, eating, drinking, reading today. 

Even his Holy ghosts have failed to reveal why is she so mean to me,

They say she's not available—well, I never asked that question.

I wanted to know her deep μυστήριον before America will call me to study NT,

In a way, I wanted to know but never had the privilege to try a hand.

Now, I am willing to work and study also,

But the Al-Gult magic is still far away. 

One kilometre is not so long,

But the land across the Atlantic will be too far from her window.

Principal had said that if a door closes, look for an open window.

Like a peeping Tom, I seek a permission to know

If the window is open or shut for me now—

If God and his people are so severe on me,

I guess Marwadis will steal the show,

For they know it is not good for a man to be alone.

Version. Shaper shaping Manoj's madness

Five cups of black coffee, then lemon tea and coke,

A toxic midnight fuel that left my sleep broke.

At five past four AM, the mind begins to spin,

Fighting the quiet caffeine storm that rages deep within.

My racing brain seeks answers where no data has been fed,

A short circuit of logic inside a restless head. 

Is this fierce obsession love, or madness in disguise?

Or has love always been a force that blinds a person’s eyes?

No contact number left behind, no friends to give a clue,

Just silence from a distant world that I can’t wander through.

I sweep the dust with green-handled brooms to clean away the grime,

Chasing perfection in the room to pass the heavy time. 

My cream-white shirt is drenched in sweat, a stain of yellow-green,

Like faded pictures from the past of things we might have seen.

The mind then leaps across the sports, to Starc and Dhaka’s fate,

A sudden, random cricket storm to watch and contemplate.

I turn down Al-fahm for kebabs, and drink my lemon soda,

While neighbors shake their heads at me, carrying this heavy load-a. 

They say she is not available, a truth I never sought,

I only wished to know the depth of mysteries she brought.

Before the far Atlantic calls to study ancient text,

I stand before a closed door, unsure of what comes next.

If God and severe people shut the window to her face,

I'll trust the lonely road ahead and seek a calmer place.

With Loving Madness and Maddening Love,

Shaper and Manoj 😘