Is language such a savage tool
You will not stoop to pick it up?
You speak to me in overlays
Of tastes and coloured archetypes
In motion with emotion’s scent
In contours of constructed time.
You scoff at my translated verse,
And scold me for this scaffolding
Of words and space in measured lengths –
Impressing now, expressing now –
Secured with strings of syntax stripped.
You mind if I remind you it’s
Amusing how a musing must
In music move to memory,
Afraid of fading in a frayed
Crochet of crude rememberings?
Whatever your aversion be,
Remember that my gratitude –
So grand and great an attitude –
Is merely motes to mighty moods
That blow beyond the Beaufort scale.
Remember I am amber that
Preserves the servings of your verve.
Remember I am humble ’cause
My kneeling kneads your naked nerves.
Remember it’s my craftsmanship
With language that enables you.
Remember I’m an amateur
And yet, I am a master too.
Minakhi Misra 