The Rush by Rajnish Mishra

The Rush

I don’t rush it through. Years, months,
days of waiting beyond the rushes
has taught me how to wait patiently,
endlessly, against hope , sometimes.

What’s the rush for? The world is exactly
where I left it yesterday and tomorrow
will not see it move a micron away.
Look at me. Don’t I look good? I’m in my prime.

I don’t rush it through. Behold me when I crouch,
then stretch and yawn, and walk silently, stalk stealthily.
I look my best today. My coat shines, my muscles ripple,
my gaze is sharp, straight and clear. I’m in my prime.

Ah, the rush of a chase,
and the high of a catch,
and the thrill of a kill!

Nature gave me fire.
Nature made them prey.
Nature made my sinews.
Nature gave me ache.

The sun is my enemy, the moon too, and
the stream that carries my scent to my prey,
or a single sound from my careless limbs,
they scare my prey and drive it away.

Tonight, there’s no light. It’s still and no wind blows.
I have waited long in the shadows of darkness for the herd
to scatter. Now is the time to spring in action.
It’ll be over in an instant: the chase, the catch and the kill.

Your eyes can’t catch my speed. I’m swift. My life depends on it.
I perform not for claps, ovation or praise. I’m beyond them.
The journey is the destination. The game is its prize.
Game over. I drag the kill to my haven, to savor in leisure.

©2017 Rajnish Mishra


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Rajnish Mishra is a poet, writer, translator and blogger born and brought up in Varanasi, India. He is the editor of PPP Ezine, a poetry ezine. He has a blog on poetry, poetics and aesthetic pleasure:


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