It’s not easy to write.
First, there’s that light,
piercing pain somewhere between my right
ear and eye. It goes away for some time but
returns stubbornly. Then, there’s that doubt,
rather, there are two of them. My wife was not
well this morning. Was it just
common cold, or there’s something to worry about?
I need some documents to start
a process, and have applied for the same. Will I get it?
Shall my will be done? Yet I make myself sit to write,
happy that I’m free for the moment
and no one needs me for some time. I write
because I can. I write
for my dream. I write
as I hope. I live, so I write.
About the contributor: 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. He edits PPP Ezine.