Minakhi Misra

sometimes…

i simply want to do
the silliest things with you

like stacking up the books
to see how it all looks

like clicking a thousand snaps
to make our memory maps

like dusting down the drapes
to fly with them as capes

like kneading up the flour
to shape it into a tower

like picking nonsense names
to play the childhood FLAMES

like writing little rhymes
to seal our feels in time.

Before I am awakened by the demands of the day,
Someone releases a flock of birds from its cage
In all directions, each heading its separate way
Securing in their bosoms their mistress’ message.
When I check, on waking up, my cellular device,
To see what the little bird has to say this morn,
Oft times I find a joke awaiting, seldom advice
On things too abstract for the bird to have borne.
I draft my response and confide it with the little bird,
In hope that my words would reach her soon,
Who every morn, sings her feelings to be heard
By all she loves, expecting their replies by noon.
Designed for use by every man, every day in excess,
This flock of little birds calls itself, the SMS.

---

Originally shared with a friend in the Winter of 2016

We were together for six years.
Six years! Can you imagine?
It is an unnaturally long time, even for girlfriends.
But there we were – together, for six years!

Back when I did not know her
and when my elder brother asked me
What qualities I was looking for in her,
I painted for him a picture so ideal
That even I did not think
Such a one could be found.
I wanted her to be so smart
That she could run eight threads in her head
All at the same time.
I wanted her to have a memory
That could hold every secret of mine,
Without ever complaining about her space.
I wanted her face to be so beautiful
That even when I look closer, grain by grain,
I should be able to resolve, very clearly
The minuteness of her imperfections.
And if these were not demands steep enough,
I also wanted her to be able run anything
That I would load her with.

And still, and still, by magic or some such craft.
My brother, the conjurer of dreams, brought her to me.
Yes, she did weigh more than the others,
And yes, she was slightly bigger than my liking,
But the moment she sat on my lap,
I knew she was everything I had asked for.
Her smartness was unparalleled then,
And her memory as good as any other of her generation.
She was more beautiful in what she showed me
That what I had seen in my mind’s eyes,
And she could run everything so smoothly,
That I was sure she would make a good housewife.

---

Originally recited to mildly amused friends the day my first laptop,
a juiced-up Dell Studio 15 (with 2k resolution and i7 processor) died in 2015

I see myself in the clouds today:
How, with the darkness of my sorrow,
I shroud the sunshine of everyone’s joy;
How the anguished lightning fills my eyes,
Moments before I thunder out in rage,
Throwing a pall of tantrums to hide
The deluge of tears that escape anyhow.