Somali Mukherjee Poet Quatrain

The Genius

I had told you long, long ago
That I can be no genius;
Still, you never wanted to know
Why I had to say it thus.

Such a grinding sense of regret
Haunts me often, pretty often;
Be it at sunrise or at sunset,
My Manna becomes Leaven.

Well, I know; yes, I do know
That nothing can be true here;
When it tolls, I must go;
None can ever, ever endear.
	
This toy house pains too much;
What was I made for?
There’s the final freezing touch
That causes my pallor.

It seems easy to see the others;
Grinding is its experience;
All such ‘sisters’ and such ‘brothers’—
None is given any lenience.

Then I was a little child,
When my grandpa left me;
He looked pretty and too mild;
Is this called destiny?

Then, one day, I came to know
My granny would depart as well;
Death is freezing just as snow;
It gives no chance something to tell.

Now, I have to guard my parents;
Please, leave me not alone;
You two are my prettiest presents
That I have ever known.

I swear that I would remain calm;
O Mom, O Dad, I promise;
Please, no more remain so mum;
I need your gentle kiss.

If I could be given a chance,
I would keep you forever;
I would sing and I would prance;
I would flow on like a river.

Am I so little? Am I so little?
Why can’t I still win against demise?
I pledge I won’t remain brittle;
Can’t I your lives optimise?

If everything is so untrue,
Why then do I survive here?
Mom and Dad, I need solely you;
You can drive away my fear.

I promise, Mom; I promise, Dad;
I will become a good girl indeed;
Death is heartless; he is too bad;
You are the only ones I need.

I had told you both long ago,
“How can I be a genius?”
Still, you never wanted to know
Why I had to say it thus.

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