To sulk at me, this Life’s not ready.
To break apart, this heart’s not ready.
Though Luck runs out with Poetry,
For so much work, this Luck’s not ready.
I sold my books for groceries.
And yet to leave, this Art’s not ready.
I brought my riches with my noose.
To loot me, still, this world’s not ready.
I’m ready, Misra, with my wish.
To drop and fall, this star’s not ready.
Translated from my Hindi poem, तय्यार नहीं
tayyār nahīn
zindagī mujhse rūTHne ko tayyār nahīn
aur ye dil hei ki TūTne ko tayyār nahīn
sunā thā shāyarī mein Kismet phūTti hei
merī Kismet hei ki phūTne ko tayyār nahīn
rāshan ke bahāne kitābein bech āyā
par adab hei ki cHūTne ko tayyār nahīn
zar-o-zevar liye sar-e-dār ho gayā
par koī mujhe lūTne ko tayyār nahīn
tayyār kHaDa hūn māngte kHahishein, Misra
sitārā hei ki TūTne ko tayyār nahīn
Minakhi Misra 