The martyrs haunt me, nothing else.
My eyes have waters, nothing else.
The dervish peeked into our hearts.
Found desolations, nothing else.
In vain you seek my heart as home.
My heart has stories, nothing else.
What could I give to charity?
I own these worries, nothing else.
In ashes of my doom, they found
Naiveté and nothing else.
My hand of Ace and King was lost.
His hand had Queens and nothing else.
Why, Misra, pride myself on claps?
They’re kindnesses and nothing else.
Translated from my Hindi Poem “कुछ नहीं”
kucH nahīn
yād mein Kurbāniyon ke siwa kucH nahīn
hei ānkH mein pāniyon ke siwa kucH nahīn
sabke dilon mein jhānkta rahā darwish
mila virāniyon ke siwa kucH nahīn
Fuzūl baserā DHūnDH rahe ho is dil mein
yahān kahāniyon ke siwa kucH nahīn
sadke mein kyā hī detā jab mere paas thā
in pareshāniyon ke siwa kucH nahīn
Meri tabāhī kī astiyon mein milā
Meri nadāniyon ke siwa kucH nahīn
meri ikkā rājā ki joDī hār gayī
uske hāth rāniyon ke siwa kucH nahīn
kyon gurūr karūn in tāliyon pe ‘Misra’
ye meherbāniyon ke siwa kucH nahīn
Minakhi Misra 