PRSANT MISRA

PRASANT MISRA

MY EYES ARE BIGGER…
BIGGER THAN MY STOMACH

I am beginning to wise up…
Without batting an eye,
I can say-
The thing within my grasp
Is not an anemometer….
It may be an angelfish,
May be an aubergine,
Or aurora australis
May be manifestation of
Manna or a mania….
Why should I call it
An anemometer ?
Why should I think that,
It’s an instrument,
For measuring the speed
Of the wind ?
I don’t love…don’t love
To lead myself by the nose,
Let well alone,
I learn things…learn things
The hard way…
Think- no search is,
Like looking for a needle
In a haystack, no search is
Like a nine days’ wonder…
My eyes are bigger…bigger
Than my stomach always…
And what comes out of
Thin air, I am its green generic…
Ghost writer…
Don’t believe me !
I may do an about-face,
May do away with a
Great dominion to have
A small dolor….
But can’t…can’t define a thing
Within my grasp, as defined…
Can’t say- it’s as right as rain….

_ Prasant