Passion…unbridled

It is Sunday morning and I already woke up late

I am dreading all the things to do that are on my plate

I need to prepare meals for the incoming week today

I have to clean, fold laundry and put clothes away

Oh wait, this is my day to catch up on exercise

Skipping a workout on a day off would not be wise

Perhaps I should do that before I begin other chores

There are work-related tasks pending that are bothering me much more

Than I care to admit, maybe I should take care of them first

Right now, before my bubble of morning enthusiasm has burst

There is a book in front of me that I had started reading last night

The urge to finish it right now I am trying to fight

I am so confused that as a distraction I turn

To my social media accounts and some more time burn

*

It is close to noon and all the chores are pending

I have been reading, and I am close to the book’s ending

All the birthday and anniversary wishes on social media have been sent

(To maintain social connections, I am making an attempt)

There are still several hours in the day before I start getting tense

About Monday morning with its promise of another week intense

The book promises to be an interesting read

But I’m disheartened to see the typeface, I need

The printed letters to be much larger for my aging eyes

The print is light, in addition to the unfavorable letter size

I put the book back on the shelf and move surreptitiously

To the large print section in order to see

If this book is in large print available

To read these days, the typeface has to be suitable..

*

Browsing in the large print section makes me

Self-conscious- I associate these shelves with the elderly

I do not have a problem reading regular print, but this particular typeface

Extraordinary strain on my eyes would place

To the extent that I would not be able to enjoy the read

This thought makes me inexplicably sad indeed

*

As a bibliophile, I harbor an ambition

To read a specific number of books, I might not be able to fulfill this mission

As I grow older and my presbyopia gets worse

In due course, to the idea of audiobooks I might not be as averse

Perhaps more books would be printed in larger print to suit the needs

Of an aging population of people who like physical books to read

*

On another note, it is a wistful reminder that I am growing old

With increasing frequency I see new challenges unfold

When it comes to art, I am nothing more

Than a complete beginner, an amateur..

*

As I try to draw, copying from a piece of art I admire

Struggling to get the proportions desired

Trying to channel my middle school art teacher’s voice in my head

Trying to remember how she explained the basics to me, what she said

Unable to recall the specifics, but uncomfortably aware

That I am not following rules, that I should be prepared

To get a less than perfect outcome in the end

That I know how to draw lifelike figures I cannot pretend

*

From art classes with an in-person instructor I would benefit

But I am not inclined to get formal instruction, I admit

All the instagram posts with a hashtag that proclaims

That the artist is self-taught has made me believe I can do the same

But neither do I possess natural talent nor do I practice enough

Trying to improve my skills in this scenario is tough..

*

I still think with practice I have improved some

But it is hard to evaluate how far I have come

In my journey as an amateur artist because I cannot be

An impartial judge of my skill and ability

You, the one quietly pushing the wheelchair, know that I see

How hard you are working, how you are keeping yourself together, barely

*

I notice towards the patient your unwavering devotion

I see how calmly you handle his outbursts of emotion

I see the lines of worry, fatigue and maybe resignation

On your forehead, but I see in your jaw the quiet determination

To take care of your family member to the best of your ability

I see you are stretched to your limits, undeniably

*

But you are not the focus of this visit, obviously

You retreat into the background, to let me see

Your patient, the one you have brought here today

You interject appropriately, ask questions along the way

You have done your homework remarkably well

You are invested in caregiving, I can tell

*

As we wrap up the visit, I am filled with admiration

For your support, your caregiving, your dedication

I hope you are treating yourself well and not burning out

You are one of those unsung heroes the world cannot do without

My joints creak and ache, my muscles feel sore

I don’t even feel like myself anymore

I carry my personal summer with me

Through air conditioned rooms, sweating profusely

My internal alarm clock loves to wake me

At the ungodly morning hour of three

I toss and turn, unable to sleep again

I wake up exhausted and in pain

Any part of my body can act up any day

Inflammation seems to have found a way

To infiltrate every fiber of my being

And mysterious symptoms I am now seeing

Sometimes my vision gets blurry out of the blue

I forget mid-sentence what I was trying to do

My brain seems to have turned into mush

I get more impaired when I try to rush

I start catastrophizing , wondering if this would be

My new normal or a progressive descent into insanity

*

Then I read about how estrogen loss at my

age

Causes all these symptoms, plus uncontrollable rage

The fact that this is natural does not provide

Enough comfort to me, this perimenopausal ride

Has made life miserable in both professional and personal domains

If nothing else, I just want to get rid of the muscle and joint pains..

The portal through which my patients can communicate with me

Has been overflowing with messages, and I cannot answer each one satisfactorily

This is a growing problem that healthcare providers face

For AI to get involved, this would theoretically be a good place..

*

Recently I had a message from a caregiver who seemed to be

Exhausted from her increasing caregiving responsibility

As her patient seemed to be on a downward slide

There was nothing I could do that would provide

A solution to her problems or even give her comfort

As I stared at the screen making a dispirited effort

To reply, an AI-generated answer popped up before me

It used a soothing tone and for the caregiver expressed empathy

But the AI-generated reply her concerns did not address

I read the well-worded answer, and I was not impressed

*

I am constantly being offered suggestions on how to reply

To my patients, the answer being crafted by AI

Not once have I found a reply that I could use

AI is obsequious and sycophantic, and I cannot choose

Words that ring so hollow and so different from what I would say

I would rather leave messages unanswered than reply to them this way..

*

AI can write emails and make them sound nice

But when patients reach out to me for medical advice

They want my opinion, not generic gibberish from a chatbot

Therefore replies to patient queries, AI shall answer not

So I heard a segment on the radio about two types of vacation that someone would take

One an adventure vacation, and the other a vacation in which they would make

Time and space just for reading-albeit at an aesthetic place

Away from home, where they would embrace

The bliss of reading all day and into the night-

This would, in my book, be vacation done right..

*

After hearing this, I want to design a reading vacation too

But time is limited, and I have plenty to do

My hopes have been raised quite unexpectedly

By a surprise chunk of time off, it is up to me

To while it away or wisely use my vacation

I have decided to try out this new recommendation

*

So for each day of vacation a new place I shall find

And with a curated collection of books I shall unwind

A reading vacation has been long overdue

To read, rest and rejuvenate, this is my cue

Some days I worry I am not doing enough

I try to increase my efficiency and do more stuff

If I spend my time in frivolous pursuits, guilt gnaws at me

Time must not be wasted, it is a precious commodity..

*

Then there are days when my workload I want to decrease

I want to take a break and rest for as long as I please

Some responsibilities that I had added to my plate

I want to relinquish in my exhausted state

*

I want to be productive, and never seem to know

Where to draw the line, therefore I go

From one extreme to the other, never satisfied

With what I am doing, I am unable to decide

Which one of the two I should prioritize-

Constant hustling or intermittent rest- it would be wise

To choose rest at this late hour anyway

And leave the conundrum for another day

Turn off the lights, so that birds can fly obstacle-free

Let them not be confused when they see

Bright lights shining through skyscraper windows

Give them dark skies, let them follow

The stars at night, as they are programmed to do

Let them complete their flights using natural cues

*

Migratory birds cover hundreds of miles at night

And the skyglow from light pollution interferes with their flight

Attracted to lit buildings, they circle around

Leading to depletion of their energies profound

Sometimes they have tragic, deadly collisions

With glass windows that play tricks with their vision

*

The skies were meant to be dark at night

But our streets and buildings are lit far too bright

Many cities have implemented a policy of “lights out”

Realizing that tall office buildings can do without

Leaving lights on at night- in this case

Two birds can be saved with one stone when this policy is embraced

Both migratory birds and energy costs benefit

When at night skyscrapers are left unlit

*

We have disrupted the natural order, solutions lie with us too

Sometimes going back in time is the best thing we can do

I have 45678 unread emails languishing in my inbox right now

I am scratching my head, wondering how I could allow

The accumulation of such a mind-boggling number of e-mails

This is just another reminder of how I have failed

To control the chaos in my life, I seem to live

In a perpetual state of overwhelm, and something’s got to give…

*

Most of the e-mails are promotional in nature, but embedded in the pile

Are a few crucial messages, it would take me a while

To sift through them and keep the ones I need

I wonder what to make of the e-mails I never did read

Perhaps they appeared important at the time they were received, but do not right now

I have to work on getting rid of the useless ones somehow

Without spending my limited time on this exercise

I select e-mails and click delete, and a few minutes later realize

That I have cleared my inbox en-masse and all my important e-mails have been deleted

In one impulsive stroke, my task has been completed

*

Relevant e-mails from the trash folder I am still trying to retrieve

But at least my inbox has been cleared up, and I breathe a sigh of relief

A parcel arrived at my doorstep, quite unexpectedly

I smelled it before I saw it and I knew instantly

That the package contained mangoes achingly sweet

Alphonso mangoes that had ripened in the scorching heat

Of parental love, mangoes were the epitome

My in-laws had gone to great lengths to send these mangoes to me

*

As my family feasted on the delectable fruit

I was inspired to wax poetic about mangoes being emblematic of my roots

But the internet obviously learnt my intent

And I unexpectedly began to see content

Focused on the “mango diaspora”, the trope South Asians were advised

To avoid in their writing by a celebrated author who had realized

That an overused metaphor for the longing of an immigrant the mango had become

Using a mango to describe a connection to the homeland was unwelcome

*

It may be cliched but it is true that mangoes, especially the exquisite Alphonso

Evoke a sense of nostalgia that is difficult to forgo

When South Asian writers use the mango in a metaphorical sense

It is actually a reflection of their lived experience

*

I was going to write about the nostalgia evoked by eating mangoes

But instead to write about why I should not, I chose…

Tens of lines started, and tens of lines erased

Writer’s block has its ugly head raised

It has been an hour of staring at a screen

But incapable of writing a verse I have been

In this past hour, I’ve been desperately trying to find

A subject that generates some curiosity in my mind

But my mind has been wandering, unwilling to stay

On one subject long enough to write about it coherently today

*

Most days I am able to overcome writer’s block

But today it is lodged in my brain like a rock

I go over my day to see if anything interesting occurred earlier in the day

But the day had been ordinary in every way

So here I am, waxing eloquent about the lack of inspiration

And writing about it to show towards writing my dedication