I turned a morning nice and calm
Into a morning full of stress,
Because someone I trust and love
Accused me of a pettiness.
I wonder why I’m worked up, when
Secure I am in innocence,
And why my fists are clenched to punch
A crack through their distorted lens.
And where is meditation’s fruit –
So many hours in Silence spent
To learn to keep my mind in check
For times it fills with ill intent?
And while I sit and scribble lines,
I feel it bubbling up again:
The urge to scratch and tear and crush
These verses so pedestrian.
I want to take this crumpled page
And chew it into tasteless yuck
And spit it out on to their face,
Iambically, “What the f…??!!”
Minakhi Misra 