The hollow space, surrounded by four walls: half pale yellow and half tiled and a white roof under which the hips rest on a tool with rotating steel seat, feels chilly.
My body with 12g/dl Hb level could feel the entire coldness of the entity in the distal parts of my limbs.
In that shallow moment, I didn't even realise that 1cm of skin from the left side of my left thumb, got peeled off.
Two breathing souls beside me and four facing me, tingle my eardrum with the beats of sound they birthed rolling their papilla rested tongues.
Five of us paid in thousands to beat the blurriness of our eyes to behold people around us. I guess that's how people with defective eyes defecate their kindness.
Irrelevant things often climb upon my fingers through ladders of weariness and it's strange that I couldn't even resist them.
-
– No more cursing to my immune system.
– I wonder if my organs and bones would stay the same when I recover from sickness.-
–Health is wealth; I'd trade anything to get healthy again.
–My mother is the best medicine I could ever have. Her presence itself cures half of my sickness.-
Night,
it crawls slowly up to my toes
and vigorously again
ascends higher, reaching the
throat: wrinkled and shrunken
only to spill darkness.
And my eyes,
they could never unlearn
the night's arrival
eventually folding themselves
to a not so sweet slumber.-
They would say,
night's sleep is for the new morning.
Also, they know,
fear of Monday is the already necrosed Sunday.
-
Uterus, absolutely kind and innocent,
knits an endometrial home around herself
in every month with love and precision
expecting a little life to grow within her.
Little did she know prostaglandins
would shake her up into reality
And she couldn't help but
scream in cramps and bleed in blood.
Another hope left unfertilised again.
-
Saturday, late morning, almost 12 noon:
A six inch gauge wire trapped tightly
between the jaws of an Adams plier.
My thumb and index finger,
sometimes the middle one
slide over the wire.
Slight friction and sharp ends of the wire
bestow scratches on the finger tips.
Distorted fingerprints get annoyed
on my patience and perfection.
And the wire refuses to bend itself
into structures that I wish for.
And I have realised,
sometimes, life's all about trying,
scratches and disappointments.-