Author: Minakhi Misra

We dream to do the things in sleep
That wakefulness prevents us here.
The unsaid cheers, the unshed tears,
The unkept promise, unswept fears.
We dream to start forgiving us
The unforgiving souvenirs
Of deep regrets, their daily threats,
That continue to cost us dear.

I don’t know why I started this.
A mad dog must have bitten me.
A worm inside my brain, for sure.
At least before I started this
I only had wishful regrets.
I saw myself in better light.
As someone who can pull this off
If only he can somehow start.
Now, look at me. I started. Failed.
I see myself in clearer light.
As someone who can’t pull this off.
I could pretend another day
As someone who can pull this off.
But what about tomorrow, hunh?
Again, Reality will knock.
Again, I’ll look inside and weep.
At least, today there’s gratitude.
At least, today I see a spark.
But what about tomorrow, hunh?
Resentments will replace this spark.
I don’t know why I started this.
A mad dog must have bitten me.
A worm inside my brain, for sure.

Uneasiness of questioned love.
Unanswered calls for clarity.
Unmasked emotions motioning
Unmetered immorality.

The puff of pride.
The bluff of sloth.
Enough. Enough.
Enough of wrath.

Unconscionably conscious.
Unmoving. Inarticulate.
Undressed desertions darkening
Unbitten breasts immaculate.

The snuff of dreams.
The stuff of strife.
Enough. Enough.
Enough of life.

The more I read, the less I am.
And that’s a good thing, btw.
The more I am, the more I’m stuck
In guarding that which makes me me.
The less I am, the less I grieve
Ideas that I have to change.
I now am simply consciousness
Rebooting every time I wake
Into evolving memory.
No wonder reading frightens me.

I went to war throughout the hour
‘Cause someone in a minute’s span
Enraged me for something I love.

I went to war throughout the hour
‘Cause someone in a minute’s span
Enraged me for something I love.

I went to war throughout the hour
‘Cause someone in a minute’s span
Enraged me for something I love.

I went to war throughout the hour
‘Cause someone in a minute’s span
Enraged me for something I love.

I went to war throughout the hour
‘Cause someone in a minute’s span
Enraged me for something I love.

I went to war throughout the hour
‘Cause someone in a minute’s span
Enraged me for something I love.

I went to war throughout the hour
‘Cause someone in a minute’s span
Enraged me for something I love.

I went to war throughout the hour
‘Cause someone in a minute’s span
Enraged me for something I love.

I went to war throughout the hour
‘Cause someone in a minute’s span
Enraged me for something I love.

I went to war throughout the hour
‘Cause someone in a minute’s span
Enraged me for something I love.

I went to war throughout the hour
‘Cause someone in a minute’s span
Enraged me for something I love.

I went to war throughout the hour
‘Cause someone in a minute’s span
Enraged me for something I love.

I went to war throughout the hour
‘Cause someone in a minute’s span
Enraged me for something I love.

I went to war throughout the hour
‘Cause someone in a minute’s span
Enraged me for something I love.

I went to war throughout the hour
‘Cause someone in a minute’s span
Enraged me for something I love.

I went to war throughout the hour
‘Cause someone in a minute’s span
Enraged me for something I love.

I went to…write about it, then.

I often end up acting like
I’m center of the universe.
Which isn’t quite inaccurate.
If universe is infinite,
Then every point’s a center, right?
I am, you are, they are, all are.
The centers of the universe.
I blame my English accent, though.
I am the spatial center, but
I think I am the special one.
The one true center. Only one.
The once and future singular.
Forgetting in this cosmic dance,
The center’s simply sitting still.
No fun in being the center, no?

Forgiving, as the word suggests,
Is meant for giving, not for getting.
Don’t forget it’s up to them.

Forgetting, as the word suggests,
Is meant for getting, not for giving.
Just forgive. It’s up to you.

I’m always sitting on the fence,
As that’s the only place that gives
A bird’s eye view of both the sides.
I see one side and shit the other,
Turn around, repeat the act,
And then I see the Buddha Way:
The Middle Path along the fence.

The fence obstructs the others’ views.
The ones on left can’t see the right,
The ones on right can’t see the left,
And so they spray graffiti fiends
They claim as proof of evilness.
The only thing they both can see?
The turning bird upon the fence.

It’s dreams that put me down to sleep.
Exhausted with the man I am
I dream to visit other lives.
I wake up grateful in this man,
This man whose consciousness has fled
Exhausted with the man he was.
The one who fled must not have been
Aware of all advantages
This man has over other lives.
No matter! I will make of him
What he has not yet made of him.
So many many things to do.
So many many lives to touch.
So what if he has erred ago?
So what if he has traumas past?
So much so much ahead of him.
He still has dreams awakening.

While sitting on the fence, I saw
A narcissistic monsoon frog
Regard its rippling countenance
Inside the well my Grandpa dug.

It croaked at it a mating call
And promptly got an echoed yes,
But something in the eagerness
Alerted it to something else.

It jumped around the steining wall
And stole a look inside to check.
The one inside seemed eager still
And beckoned to its rippling lake.

“Don’t fall for it,” I heard me say.
It, startled, jumped into the well.
I clapped my forehead, slapped my thighs,
And bit into a half-picked nail.

“For all I know it’s happier.
The monarch of its monsoon realm.”
I let the drizzle tickle me,
Resumed my throne upon the fence.