I’d sworn I’d never wear perfume,
Before you showed me fragrant oils.
I’d sworn I’d eat no bottle gourd,
Before you mashed it, fully boiled.
I’d sworn I’d buy no fancy herbs,
Before your tea with lemongrass.
I’d sworn I’d never love again,
Before you showed me what I’d pass.
Though love is all the vows we take,
It’s also promises we break.
1.
She said she liked the flab on me.
To hug me was so “pillowy”.
“I’m jealous of your girlfriend, yo.”
I said I was still single, though.
I took her to the ice cream store.
She hugged me tight, but nothing more.
She took my number, never phoned.
I knew I just got Teddy-zoned.
2.
I found another. Pretty cute.
A family of much repute.
She said she liked me very much.
Like cotton candy to her touch.
I bared my soul, she shared her dreams.
The target of her teenage schemes:
A wealthy boy for whom she moaned.
I knew I just got Teddy-zoned.
3.
She pinged my Yahoo Messenger.
To meet the “local listener.”
She hugged and cried into my shirt.
And said I understood her hurt.
I calmed her down. I made her laugh.
She pinged after a week and half:
“We’re back together. He atoned.”
I knew I just got Teddy-zoned.
4.
She did assignments in my dorm.
I weathered all her tantrum storms.
She’d snuggle, curled, into my lap.
I’d pat her head throughout her nap.
I organized her birthday bash.
She called a guy who brought her hash.
I found them necking, pretty stoned.
I knew I just got Teddy-zoned.
5.
And here we are, two Teddy Bears.
Two softy souls on steady chairs.
So careful with our wrinkled hearts.
But smiling through our lemon tarts.
You’re trusting me. I’m trusting you.
And all our words are passing through
Our bullshit-filters, sharply honed.
It’s good we both got Teddy-zoned.
You wonder who’s the boss species?
Us, Homo sapiens? You sure?
I know of few who’ve kept us slaves.
For them, there’s much that we endure.
They make us work in heat and rain.
They make us bring them food from far.
They make us take them round the world.
They make us question who we are.
To some extent, I understand
The hold that some of them exert.
But some are just too genius
To make us put so much effort.
The Theobroma cacao –
Whose pods are bitter, taken plain –
Has somehow learned to rule our hearts
By tying up with sugarcane.
You feeling low? It’s there to help.
You feeling high? It’s there to share.
As ice cream, shake, and bar and cake
And mousse and truffle and eclair.
You screw up? Count on it to fix.
No gifts in mind? Just go with it.
And if someone says they don’t like,
You know they are a hypocrite.
The point is, when I talk like this –
I’ll lecture on your chance remark –
I may not let you speak a word,
So, shut me up with chocolate dark.
You’ll get me at my lowest now.
And I will often disappoint.
I’m far too disagreeable.
Neurotic, bitter, moody kind.
I’m wonderful on certain days.
On certain days, a werewolf, cursed.
I’m grateful, though, for every hour:
The happy best, the ugly worst.
The things I had, I’ve given up.
Except the worms inside my head.
The ones that gnaw me every time
I get some stable work instead.
I’m often quite indisciplined.
I’ve made me unemployable.
By whining in my poetry
I’ve made me unenjoyable.
So, here’s the deal I have for you.
It’s not romantic in the least.
It isn’t hashtag-valentine’s.
A simple partnership, it is.
If you can make our daily bread,
If you can help our bodies thrive,
I’ll bake for us a daily rhyme.
I’ll help us keep our souls alive.
Reminiscing and laughing free.
Just you and me and memory.
And doing nothing all day long.
And that romantic Elvis song.
And stand up shows, and sit down eats.
And waltzing to imagined beats.
And chopping, stirring, “Is this done?”
And stairwells with the setting sun.
And fort, and dome, and palace ground.
And broken rules, and temples found.
And things we planned, but never did.
And naked parts we’d always hid.
But now you’re far. I can’t do much
Except to feel, caress, and touch
The love and warmth and care you took
To press this rose inside my book.
You cannot blitz your life away.
Or riddle work with bullet games.
You sought a focused mind, but got
Addiction stamped with GM names.
Who cares you play the Caro-Kahn?
Or Karpov in the Ruy Lopez?
You must preserve the piece of mind
You’re gambiting a thousand ways.
You have to move with tempo now
And calculate a deeper line.
You’ve lost so much material,
It seems you’re planning to resign.
You know you still have counterplay.
A step a time is not a crawl.
Do not, do not, do not go down.
A king is made for standing tall.
It kills me every time we fight.
My will to love’s a piercing trill.
For every time I die inside,
My will to live is stronger still.
It’s okay. Do the bit you can.
You’ve done the hard thing anyway.
You’ve quenched the writhing, burning man.
It’s okay. Just survive the day.
Your shadows rising in the smoke
Will fade to shimmers of your steam.
It’s okay. Voices that provoke
Will not withstand your silent scream.
It’s okay. Go to bed with pride.
You did today the best you could.
You chose to face, instead of hide.
So, go and take the rest you should.
It’s okay to be copycat
If there’s a market you can serve.
If there’s a thing that has been done,
And in your market can be done,
And yet no one is trying to,
Though customers are buying two,
Just gather up a little nerve
And be a copycat to serve.
Aestheticising blood and gore,
We glorify the worst of war.
With words like honour, duty, pride,
Romanticising winning sides,
We moralise the quest of war.
Such art in peaceful times is cast
As propaganda meant to last,
At least, under our mind’s radar,
Recruiting hearts from near and far,
Before a war compels a draft.
Is there a peace to end all peace?
Minakhi Misra 