Author: Minakhi Misra

The Leonardo on his wall
Is not a print he bought online.
He made it, stroke by matching stroke,
On painful summer weekends, lying
Prone upon tatami mats
He’d brought with him from Tokyo,
Exchanging all the Hokusai
He’d painted in his patio,
Upright, on easels he had sculpted
à la Rodin, through the night.
They asked him when he’d make his own.
He told them off. He never might.

A year has passed. Retired year.
And still no quiet in her days.
The garden that she plans to plant
Is daily plucked by monkey strays.

He doesn’t like her spending time
In garlanding her jasmine flowers.
She doesn’t like him spying her
From windows of his ivory tower.

He never sees her eye-to-eye.
He talks in grunts of irony.
She does whatever needs be done,
Pretending there is harmony.

Today, he turned seventy two.
Today, she made his favorite treats.
Today, she cried again alone.
He made her garlands. Jasmine sweet.

The monkeys tore her comforter.
Her favourite cuddle, ripped to bits.
She’s giggling still. She’s wriggling still.
But seeing us distraught, it hits.

At seven months, she’s learning that
Attachment is a learned remorse.

He traces life in fading dates
Inscribed with careful pencil strokes
In corners of the title page
Of paperbacks in rows and rows
Of shelves that make his treasury.

He got this from a cornershop,
And this one from a leaving friend,
And that one was a birthday gift,
And all of these he bought through post,
Before the times of online stores.

We find a book or two or three
For every week for fifty years.
He turns to me – a smile – and asks,
“You’ll make me into one of these?”
I dab the smudging date and nod.

If you are winning, simplify.
If you are losing, complicate.
If you prefer to play for draw,
Just equalize in any way.

This works for sure in games of chess,
But not so much in games of love.
You blunder every other move.
No wonder this endgame is tough:

If you are winning, equalize.
Don’t draw it out, don’t complicate.
If you are losing, simplify.
Acknowledge. Don’t prevaricate.

It’s not a competitive game.
The only win’s togetherness.
If that is lost, then all is lost.
Except your hanging loneliness.

He’s looking at your laptop screen.
He’s disappointed yet again.
He had so many dreams for you.
But you are going full insane.

He isn’t. He is fast asleep.
He isn’t feeling well today.
He isn’t disappointed. No.
He’s in denial anyway.

It’s you who’s in denial, bro.
You’re talking to a shadowed voice.
You think you can maintain a front?
You think you still have any choice?

I’ll make it work. I always have.
I’ll cancel out your every scream.
I’ve tried to make it work with you,
But will not let you kill my dream.

You think I have to move a hand
Against a hack of many trades?
In trying to do everything,
You’re juggling smoking hand grenades.

He’s getting up. I’ll make some tea.
You’re free to talk. I’ll just ignore.
I’ll busy myself so much now,
I’ll overcome you chore by chore.

I’m trying many, many things.
And that is why I never ship.
I never pick. I never stick.
I must embrace the obvious:
Remove the darlings from my day.
Retain precisely one effort.

But how exactly do I choose?
I do not know which one’s the best.
Which one will move the needle most.
Which one will make it worth the while
For ending every other quest.

It’s killing me. Today I’ll snooze.
Tomorrow I will try to choose.

For me to say, “I love you” too,
I have to know my “I” is true,
And what I understand of “love”,
And if I know “you” well enough.

—

To say my “I” with confidence,
I have to find my quintessence.
My purest “I” is in my art.
It’s where I live with all my heart.

I’ve tried so many different things,
But nothing gives my soul its wings,
Except the act of crafting lines
That interpret our world’s design.

Unreasonable – yes, I know.
I’ve tried to let this madness go.
But every time I’ve left my art,
I’ve seen me crumble, fall apart.

Without my art, I have no why.
Without my art, there is no “I”.

—

Of all the words I’ve cut and pieced,
I understand this “love” the least.
Some days it makes me overjoyed.
Some days it leaves me mad, annoyed.

I think this love’s a living thing.
And just like every breathing being,
It needs nourishment: happiness.
That’s freedom from our crappiness.

It’s not about the things we gain.
But fathoming the other’s pain.
A means for us to empathize:
To see their pain through their own eyes.

It’s not about us sharing rooms,
But making space for each to bloom
Into our individual “I”,
For each to find our ikigai.

It’s not about the things we say,
But what we do in our own way
To bring each other daily peace
In health, and in the worst disease.

It’s not about a sacrifice,
But willingness to pay a price
To have the other in our day.
We’re lost without them anyway.

It’s hard to love with daily ease.
But only love can bring us peace.

—

I know a little bit of “you”.
The things you like, the things you do.
The things you value, things you don’t.
The things you will do, things you won’t.

Your imperfections rivet me
Like golden streams of Kintsugi.
Though parts of you are still a mess,
Your wu-wei is effortless.

You’re stronger than you think you are.
For ones you love, you stretch afar.
You have an aura you don’t see.
You are this poet’s fantasy.

With you, I’m spirited away.
Your acts inspire every day.
I’m slow to learn the truths they teach,
But they are depths I’m moved to reach.

They teach that love is being there,
To show, not say, how much you care.
That listening means keeping quiet,
Even if I think I’m right.

That patience is an active move.
It takes some time to find our groove.
To understand our different ways.
To figure what our silence says.

There’s much of you I’m yet to see.
You’re infinitier than me.

—

I’m sorry, couldn’t come online
To be your pizza Valentine.
But this I know, and this is true,
I love you, love you, love you too.

You made me feel I’m fine as me.
Already, I am somebody.
Deserving life. Deserving love.
Already, I am good enough.

Despite my werewolf tendencies,
You sought from me no guarantees.
No matter how my demons raged,
You stayed with me to keep them caged.

I made a threat, you did not flinch.
I pushed, you did not move an inch.
It mattered not how hard I tried.
You did not let me die inside.

You knew my screams were cries for help.
But only I could help myself.
You did not try to save my soul.
You made me feel already whole.

Without a single spoken word,
You heard what no one else had heard.
The holes I’d failed so far to plug,
You filled them with that single hug.