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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required In prison, and bereft of all defence, But my Healer, graver than ever ere, Swirls his chair round, yon of window to stare As if to get inspired from Providence. More of a dumb than mute, I curse my fate, But happy he feels that it’s my left hand, We’ll amputate it if we cannot mend, What, what? I ask, my mouth an open gate. We’ll start with anti-Cox, let it take long, If you stick to treatment, you’ll sure get cured, Soft tissue bone cancer I hope it’s not, It looked he played a loose game of Ping Pong, But what’s not in one’s hand ought 'tbe endured, He vaguely kept everything to my lot. Vague were his ways, vague as his weird know-how— Of kind that make from mole hill huge mountain, I ask him once again to well explain, Here’s what he said with flourish and a bow: There’s a graveyard of local infection, And a cyst envelopes it like a fort, Fight ensues, there’s settlement out-of-court, Bur why worry it all, time to take action. The cyst was hence removed, its stems and roots, Biopsy tests done still gave not a clue, But all follow up had to be gone through, Cost and concern, me left with bitter fruits, Does today’s tech help, hinder all the more? A mixed bag of debates rage—needless lore. _______________________________________ Crown of sonnets | 03.11.2012, revised July 2023| Poet’s note: Here are sonnets VII and VIII of a sequel of ten sonnets constituting one single poem called a crown of sonnets. The last line of the preceding sonnet is repeated as the first line of the next sonnet, but not verbatim; nor is the first line of the first sonnet is repeated as the last line of the tenth as is. The sestets are either a quartet and a couplet or two sets of three-lined Terza Rima. Hurt is the place from where light enters, and it did, I realized after my long-drawn medical treatment.
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