Heal Thyself O Patient - IV
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.
Copyright © Aniruddha Pathak | Year Posted 2023
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