Passion…unbridled

I just learnt that the English language originally

Did not have a plural for the word “priority”

But these days we all talk about our many priorities

Our to-do lists have seen an increase

In the number of things vying for our attention

Therefore the singular priority has found an extension

Into the realm of plurality-priorities now have to compete

Amongst themselves to occupy the top seat

*

When multiple things we try to prioritize

What we invariably fail to realize

Is that nothing remains a priority in that case

And another exhausting decision we face

To find the one thing that needs to take precedence

Over others based on its importance

*

So let me prioritize one thing in this moment

And for that one task be fully present

I came across an aphorism yesterday

That resonated with me in a powerful way-

It said that people have a tendency to underestimate

How comforting work can be, it captures the relationship of love and hate

That many of us have with work- even when things are not going well

There is comfort in being engaged in work, it does not give us time to dwell

On negative thoughts that lead into rabbit-holes

Work grounds us, shifts our focus to immediate goals

*

Work is a comforting presence in my life, I confess

The predictable rhythm of work is essential to my success

The morning cup of coffee, the mostly predictable commute

The anticipation of a productive work-day, all contribute

To my well-being, despite periods of stress

That often make me want to work a little less

Without work, unmoored and unmotivated I might be

There is comfort in work, I agree wholeheartedly

I had a desire to be heard, and I used to think

That I had a lot to offer the world, if I put to paper my ink

I had the audacious ambition of being known

As a writer, have a respected voice of my own

*

To cultivate and nourish my voice, I tried

But it was impossible for me to take pride

In my voice, because I was unable to find

External validation, the critic in my mind

Continued to tell me my voice was not important enough

To silence that critic was incredibly tough

*

I tried to make peace with the unilateral decision

That since my voice was not worthy of recognition

I would stop trying to nurture it, stop trying to write

But the overwhelming desire to express myself I continued to fight

*

One day in a burst of inspiration

I began to write again, and experienced the exhilaration

Of expressing myself, I decided that day

That I would not allow my voice to be silenced in any way

By my inner critic or the lack of validation

From others-my voice is a celebration

Of my unique place in the universe

I shall remember that each time I write a verse

When I was younger, with lofty ideas in mind

I had thought my style would be defined

By unique, artistic, curated possessions

To project understated elegance was an obsession..

*

It appears I had overestimated my aesthetic abilities

And grossly underestimated life’s realities

So neither time nor the aptitude I could find

To create the curated look I had in mind

Neither interior design, nor fashion

Could I claim as my burning passions..

*

Over time my personal style acquired

A distinctly practical vibe, my life required

Things and processes that were fuss-free

Thus everything was focused on functionality

*

Now I feel everything in my life is too bland

And I want to draw new lines in the sand

Gradually I am trying to rekindle my interest

In arts and crafts, so I can curate the best

And most unique objects that represent me

And carry with them a captivating story..

Maybe the best way

To move forward is to step away…

*

Caught in the midst of a storm brewing around you

You cannot figure out what you want to do

You are too close to the commotion to hear

The voice of reason, no matter how clear

*

You step away from the maelstrom, now you can assess

The situation from a distance, be involved a bit less

Removing yourself from a problem physically or figuratively

Gives you the priceless gift of objectivity..

*

To some extent, you become an observer dispassionate

Your emotions embroiled in the situation dissipate

You move forward with a decision that you have made

With the voice of reason that would have been drowned out, had you stayed

My mind is in emotional turmoil, my creative juices do not flow

I’ve stared at the blank sheet of paper for an hour with nothing to show

For trying to be present for my daily practice of writing

Not just writer’s block but an unquiet mind I am fighting

Exasperated and discouraged, from my desk I rise

It appears futile to persist in this exercise

I need to calm my mind, perhaps meditate

And come back to writing in a calmer state..

*

But I had promised to show up for my creativity, I would hate

To let myself down, to use as an excuse my distraught state

So I decide to describe exactly how I feel

And as more of my dilemma I reveal

Words come to me almost on their own

Before I realize, the verse I am writing has grown

*

I had pledged to exercise my creativity every day

And this was the impetus I needed to drive negativity away

I feel accomplished, and less perturbed as well

When I write, on my depressing thoughts I cannot dwell

And that may be why I shall try to never miss

My daily writing practice- it can turn vexation into calm, and joy into bliss

I scan information on my phone frequently

My brain goes wherever that information takes me

Thinking for myself in depth is something I do on occasions rare

If I think of anything, more information is always there

For me to find through a quick search on the internet

I scan through information fast, but a deeper understanding I rarely get

My “internet brain” appears to be

Incapable of focusing on anything, increasingly

*

To reclaim my lost focus, the strategy that works for me

Is to read a physical book, when I am reading I am free

From the mind-wandering and task-switching that are near-constant

When a device in the vicinity is ever present

That is the only way I counter my internet brain

That is why reading books keeps me sane

I feel depressed and lonely right now

And I need a booster that would allow

Me to uplift my spirits some

So I do what the teenaged me would have done

And play dress-up, that feminine urge never gets old

Seemingly frivolous, it has benefits profound, truth be told

I dress up in my finest silks, pulled out from the recesses of my closet

After draping a magnificent saree, I am no longer upset

The exquisitely crafted weave luxurious feels

Against my skin, to my senses it appeals

*

I drape a saree, then stand before a mirror and preen

I add some heirloom jewelry and feel like a queen

By this act of self-indulgence my spirits have been raised

In dressing up in a saree, my femininity and culture, both I have embraced

Many times I have attempted to marry

The unlikely duo of medicine and poetry

Waxing poetic about health and wellness

Or lamenting in verse about a rare illness

Talking about everything that I in practice see

Incorporating the rhythm of poetry..

*

Verses about Covid and the vaccine I have composed

Risk factors for heart disease I’ve written as a poem instead of prose

The effects of climate change on health I’ve described

I’ve talked about medications, over the counter and prescribed

Cancer, dementia, diabetes, diets have all been included

As subjects of my poems, to many aspects of medicine in my verses I’ve alluded..

*

Both medicine and poetry I am passionate about

Neither one of them I can live without

Merging them leads to an interesting amalgam that I hope to claim

As my unique voice, a way of writing that bears my name

When burnout looms large, I invariably turn

To pen and paper, over time I have learnt

That carving out my thoughts in a manner poetic

Acts as a salve for my soul, the appeal of poetry is magnetic

Not that a literary masterpiece I can write

But with a simple verse, a sense of calm I invite

In to my perturbed state of mind

An instant therapeutic effect of writing a poem I find

*

When I write from the deepest recesses of my heart

When my closeted emotions are ripped apart

When words that I write carry a meaning profound

With a complex web of pain and pleasure, myself I surround

*

Within the words of a poem is my safe place

Into which I retreat when the world is hard to face..

Work in an office had been the global norm

There were few jobs that to this paradigm did not conform

Then came the pandemic with its vital need

For social distancing, and with remarkable speed

Work and school switched almost completely online

Remote meetings the pandemic came to define

The separation between workplace and home went away

This shift in workplace seemed destined to stay

*

Being an essential worker the opportunity

To work from home was never available to me

Sometimes I envied those who did not need to leave

The comfort of their homes, at other times I was grateful I could cleave

Myself from the myriad domestic responsibilities

That if I were at home would never cease

In retrospect, when the world was scary and made little sense

The workplace and my interactions in it were a reassuring presence

*

While returning to workplace is a matter of great debate

For me it helps keep my work and home lives separate

The flexibility of attending meetings virtually is nice

But I’d rather interact in person than through a device..

All self-help books tell you to be intentional

Make a plan, operate in a manner directional

Visualize what you want, and work towards that goal

Be in the driver’s seat, not play a passive role

*

When I read such a book, for the next hour or so

Into a frenzy of goal-setting, myself I throw

I come up with numeric goals, write out elaborate plans

For the next month, next year, and my entire life span

*

I feel so accomplished after that list is made

I can be successful, now that concrete plans are laid

I end the day on a high note, thoroughly energized

I cannot wait for my audacious dreams to be realized

*

The next day dawns, the plans have lost their sheen

I get busy in my chaotic daily life, like I’ve always been

Most of the goals are abandoned by the end of the week

The prospect of me tasting wild success appear bleak

*

Sometimes randomly goals for myself I set

Those goals are more likely to get

Greater attention and effort from me

They are, for most part, not as lofty

So I am able to work towards them more enthusiastically

They are the ones that truly represent me

*

I have a burning desire to do a lot more

And I do not know what the future has in store

I take life one day at a time, unlike the books suggest

Despite my attempts to put their theory to test