Minakhi Misra

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  • Defeated by a Daring Dream

    The problems solved by friends with ease
    Appear large, Atlassian loads
    I cannot hold, or shrug, or throw.
    In loneliness of solitude
    I curse the guts of Hercules
    Who tricked his labour on to me.

    My friends are moving mountains there,
    And here I lie so paralysed.
    They, Hanumaan; I, Lakshmana.
    Though both the instruments of God,
    Though both in service of Divine,
    For now, I’m hurt, and down, and lost.

    And yet I am no Aurora,
    No helpless Sleeping Beauty cursed.
    No true love’s kiss I need to wake.
    I have with me my salvation.
    And only I can call it forth.
    The only thing I need to do
    Is raise my voice and ask for help.

    And, say, they do not come to aid,
    And, say, for all my cries of help
    I only get Promethean pain –
    Eviscerated every day –
    I’d know my dream was worth it all.
    For I have stolen from the Gods
    The fire burning in my eyes.
    No eagle, raven, owl, or crow
    Can catch and tear a dancing light.

    July 26, 2022

  • Holy Grail

    Awaiting at his trophy home,
    His trophy wife, his trophy child,
    His trophy dog on trophy leash,
    Congratulated, welcomed him.

    He kissed his wife, he kissed his child,
    He kissed the collar on the dog,
    And let them have the trophy cup
    He picked up at the latest match.

    He trusted them with everything
    He did not mind dispensing with.

    July 25, 2022

  • Inheritance

    A year of monthly unpaid bills,
    A month of weekly pouty drives,
    A week of daily quarrel calls,
    And, finally, a teak was chopped.
    Their grandma’s kevlar canopy
    Had, finally, a bullet hole.

    July 24, 2022

  • Before I cross that final bridge…

    I have to bridge the gap between
    My rumoured health and tumoured strokes
    To share with all the beauty of
    The mojo in these chemo jokes.

    I have to bridge the gap between
    My daily needs and nightly knacks,
    To stand the tailing heat behind
    The comet in my income tax.

    I have to bridge the gap between
    The “Aah!” of myth and “Ain?” of facts
    To wrap some meaning all around
    The text inside my best extracts.

    I have to bridge the gap between
    My ripened being and peeling breath
    To go with sweet aromas of
    The God inside my mango death.

    July 23, 2022

  • Forgotten Poet

    His freshly-ground Robusta’s still
    Adept at open-sesaming
    Forever tangling neural nets
    Inside his muse’s fishing hole
    He daily melts with caffeine drips
    Escaping down the leaky mug
    He’s stolen from Alzheimer’s desk.

    July 22, 2022

  • Someone’s ceiling, someone’s floor

    Throughout my ceiling-staring night,
    I heard on every washroom trip
    A fellow-flusher up a floor.

    It seemed they heard my gurgling chords
    Erupting in the echo bowl
    And rushed to join the denouement.

    Perhaps, with every press, they meant
    They’ve stared into my staring eyes
    Through flooring tiles, concrete, and more.

    Or, maybe they’re just as lost.
    And look to me for fellowship.
    Perhaps, tonight I’ll press their bell.

    July 21, 2022

  • “This week, last year”

    In scrolling through his poems past,
    In every “I” and every “me”,
    He recognised a flash-lit him
    In set-squared poses, post-it smiles,
    And Jenga wrinkles ’round the eyes,
    Anticipating clicking sounds
    From oily touches on a screen
    His muses fumbled daily with.

    July 20, 2022

  • Dependency

    His day begins with rings of tea
    Encompassing some classifieds
    In yestermorning’s local Times
    Emancipated from his Dad,
    Whose day begins with rings of tea
    Upon retirement coaster gifts.

    July 19, 2022

  • Superannuation

    Reflected on the framing glass
    Atop the flattering report
    Commemorating lifetime’s worth
    Of thankless teaching and research,
    She sees the senior citizen
    About to reap her pension fund
    Beside the fuzzy photo of
    The twenty-something who had paid
    The premiums from her salary.

    July 18, 2022

  • Gom Jabbar

    My hand’s inside an empty slot,
    And all of me is out of tune.
    My fears arise in monstrous size
    Like Sandworms from a whirling Dune.

    The extra Spice in take-out food
    Has made a Thumper of my tum.
    This washroom cubicle is out
    Of water, paper for my bum.

    July 17, 2022

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