Now, that I’ve seen eight,
nine, I’m sure, will not be as fine
as they write in those tales.
Tales are just tales, I know,
So, they talk to me, I listen,
and nod, then I do what I want.
I’ve seen when I wait long enough
their talks do end and they leave.
Sometimes I look at them, look not listen,
and think of all I’ll do after the talk ends.
Then I wait, and wait some more, and they leave.
I am made to sit in a corner, punished, grounded.
So I wait, and wait, and they leave.
Then I play, alone, in my corner, book in my hand.
I’m safe, punished, and alone, while
they think I’m reading as ordered.
About the Author
Rajnish Mishra is a poet, writer, translator and blogger born and brought up in Varanasi, India and now in exile from his city. His work originates at the point of intersection between his psyche and his city. His work has now started appearing in journals and websites.