Perusing for a Passion

By Ekasmayi Naresh

Nothing of promise
or deserving of pursuit
to brandish as my passion –
the badge of my honour,
emblematic of my repute.
Not even nominal
breadcrumbs of a fervor
not an inkling of an inclination
by whose hooks
I might be caught and reeled over;
no fuel that feeds my fire
but denying there are
no embers at all
would make me a liar.

It might surprise you to know
I seldom feel with vehemence
my mind, a storehouse of souvenirs
of brilliant banality
never the loyalist
to a faith, feeling or one so fortunate
nor a fan of passionate pretense.
Perhaps the map
with the road to my passion’s perusal
never found the cartographer;
Or the ‘X’ marked tressure-trove
was wrongly shipped away
by a rookie staffer.
Whatever the reason
I am not complaining.

It’s not the worst bargain
in a perverse, post-modern
playing of the Pied Piper
I pick up interests,
collected like a gambler would debts
or a forever hopeful fool
would lottery tickets –
with an almost avaricious appetite.
Likewise do I,
frequent varied destinies
fervently ensuring no two eggs
are in the same basket.

What this has done
is make me a mosaic,
not quite a masterpiece
but piqued my passion
in the most
pluralistic of pursuits.
Settling for the singular
seemed resolutely averse
so settle I did
for the bohemia of beliefs;
that I might reach for all
passionately scramble and fall,
and in dancing with these dangers
of wanting more
than my outstretched embrace
risking oblivion or disgrace
I find my true calling.

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