The Right to Repair

A poem by Achuthan Panikath

Tue Mar 10 2026

I must have your providence;
To claim what is lost and make it more than it was;
To respawn at a forgotten turn;
To harmonize with the pulse of my soul.
Oh cynosure! Don't lead me astray
From the galaxies I harbour in my veins.

This is no destiny; you are lost by your will.
Your cracks bear the mark of the blessed light.
How dare you mend that which must stay broken?
For your art now breathes through the shattered glass
Anew; Affirmed; outrageously raw
That could stun the life of the world to come.

Then I shall grant me providence
To will this life with our faded starlight.
I permit these rays to find my kinks --
I will be enough for another blind.
And as I become who I never was,
I'll know I was meant to be broken.