Poetry: Rajnish Mishra

Rajnish Mishra

The Angry Driver

He presses pedals, rushes fast,
Drives impatiently,
Angrily past plastic, glass and metal.
Cuts through slow, slimy snails,
driver’s bane,
switches lanes,
swerves, then goes slow
and blocks their lane
For revenge.
He drives
with geometric precision,
with a drive to drive,
eyes of tiger,
half-a- smile.
Lingering fingers or eyes
on screen, not his way,
his style is simple,
not a moment extra
spent on road.
Rage erupts when he outdrives,
with a war to wage
every moment.
How could he, she, or they,
delay him for a second?
Mon semblable, mon frère?
You know him.
Don’t you?

---

Apologia pro vita mea

I don’t remember exactly

what happened that evening.

She wanted her minute,

hour or year of fame,

she told me loudly.

I tried to reason,

with a woman,

and failed.

She kept pestering;

my resistance broke.

I may have slapped her,

not more than once;

lightly, tangentially,

I don’t remember clearly now,

but I sure know how

to restrain myself.

I stayed awake, beside her,

seven inches away,

separated by a wall,

listening to her eerie sobs

through that long night.

I apologized the next morning,

even made her an omelette and coffee.

She said nothing.

Her words were drained

with her tears maybe.

She did not respond,

I left for work, looking at her

for the last time,

although I didn’t know it then,

In the evening,

I returned with two tickets

of Life is Beautiful,

and a resolve

to be more patient with her,

always,

no matter what.

I just can’t fathom even today,

why she left forever!

Setu Anniversary, June 2017