Thursday, January 31, 2008

Cancer


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A wife, one day she awoke
To see her husband sleeping
She kissed him good morning
Seeing not the terror creeping

The mother sat with her family
Her children babbling away
She smiled unnasuming
That hell would break loose today

She felt some fatigue, but let it pass
"It's nothing to worry about"
Till all day did her body ache
And she felt a twinge of doubt

She waited in the asylum-white room
The odour of medicine in the air
With a number for a name, she walked
Head on into the nightmare

In a daze like a wooden puppet
She let them probe and prick
The man in white, he shook his head
"Ma'am I think you're very sick"

She did not understand him
"How sick am I?" asked she
He scribbled in a pad and said
"I'll send you to Oncology"

1 comment:

saaleha. bamjee. hyphen. said...

the last line is very effective.

Poetry

when language like bubbling streams flow




when words are laid down to fit like lovers' hands




when you feel the essence of the poet from within




when swirling thoughts are caught in the net of rhythm



when images reel as you read




when pen and paper create a symphony




then, it is poetry
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