I am a son of a farmer, not a son of a queen. What will happen if we exchange our destiny? But frankly, I cannot imagine myself being a son of a queen, nor can I imagine you as a farm son. So, I will rely on another way to achieve our transformation. I will go to a spiritualist friend and ask him to perform a soul transplant; by giving my body your soul, and giving your body my soul. I think after that, we'll all understand the true story.
Categories:
transplantation, allusion,
Form: Prose
dusty india,sleepy india
minimum india,lockdown india
it's not celestial bodies are now stationary
it's not a northpole southpole tunnel bisected earth
it's the killer omnivirus,greatest medical challenge
dusty india,sleepy india
minimum india,lockdown india
it's not astroid ending world
it's not the nuclear war
it's the killer omnivirus,greatest medical challenge
dusty india,sleepy india
minimum india,lockdown india
it's not transplantation of living lung
it's not stem cell regeneration
it's the killer omnivirus,greatest medical challenge
dusty india,sleepy india
minimum india,lockdown india
Categories:
transplantation, anxiety, cry, dark, death,
Form: Sonnet
I stood as though reborn on mounded dirt which seemed so moist
it strangely could assuage the ache from my bowels howling
from so much hurt! Would ground then be my cure or a mirage?
Enticed, I deeply pressed my feet through the soil! They took root!
Then they fixed me to the spot! My ever-thickening trunk
served well to foil the plots of those who’d fell me. . . . they could not!
My limbs, though mighty branches, could not bend; Oh, how I fought
my transplantation, weathering storms God or man might send,
living so long in desolation! Self preservation
did this much for me: loved ones passed and I remained a tree.
Sept. 19, 2017
10 lines of 14 syllables each
Syllables checked with Howmanysyllables.com
For the Personification of Plant Contest of Kim Rodrigues
Categories:
transplantation, tree,
Form: Personification
I stood as though reborn on mounded dirt,
which seemed so moist it strangely could assuage
the ache from bowels that howled from so much hurt.
Would ground then be my cure or a mirage?
Enticed, I deeply pressed each foot through soil
till they took root and fixed me to a spot.
My ever-thickening trunk served well to foil
the plots of those who’d cut me. . . . they could not!
My limbs, though mighty branches, could not bend;
stubbornly I fought my transplantation.
I weathered storms that God or man might send,
sightless, living long in desolation.
Self preservation did this much for me-
old loved ones passed and I remained a tree.
Categories:
transplantation, tree,
Form: Sonnet
Talkin' Corneal-Transplantation
Gratitude
Whispering voices beseech me,
through failing eyes unable to
see,
riding the clouds floating on a
dream,
my vision swept away in a frigid
stream,
I clambered and clawed my way
between the moss,
listening to sickly sweet
platitudes of flimsy candy-floss,
and now I stand up again, I
rise,
thanks to your selfless gift of
your very own eyes,
owing a debt to a life that has
passed away,
bequeathing unto me hopes of
seeing this new day,
an unknown donor lives on,
within my very eyes,
and I am eternally thankful, as
each night and day flies,
to you whom I shall never
know, my anonymous giver of
sight,
my gratitude is endless, as I
wish you peace, on your final
flight.
(to the unknown donors of the
Corneas that I have so
fortunately received)
Categories:
transplantation, tribute
Form: I do not know?
I am not god...Not even an angel...
To watch you walk away from my soul…
As my heart will pretend not to care…
Seeing you with another love…
Where you and I am not told…
I am wounded so deeply…
In the heart you lived for so long…
I feel my heart is crawling...
All back to your memories…
Making me a prisoner in your memories...
How long should I carry on…
How long should I stay…?
For the healing of the wounds in pain…
I can not go to a doctor…
Nether go under heart transplantation…
Wounds are deep to long. Too strong...
I am helpless of healing them…
Where can I run, where can I hide…
When all the memories of you...
Trying to make me and my heart A prisoner for the life time??
Dilupa Wijegunasekara
Categories:
transplantation, lost loveheart, heart, me,
Form: I do not know?
In town was a flea,
a deadly hunter of lives.
Leaving the tiny bushes,
in other to graduate to other levels.
It sought for the streets,
to explore another kind of life.
A gradual killer it was,
injecting every of its found preys.
The streets were pretty much unwise to have noticed
his tricks and they aided his planned missions.
It had then succeeded on some who loved
and couldn't do without the five minutes uncovered.
Promoted itself to a level of transplantation.
Now the deadly hunter has being found to be a virus.
There came a horrified exclamation of disgusts,
not to do something is to be crippled fast.
It had become a saga
after filling their sacks and glands with poisons.
Categories:
transplantation, health, loss, sad,
Form: I do not know?