The
Battle And After
© S K Iyer
Come winter, enters me the guest,
choking the path
of my life's breath,
knocking me down to bed,
turning me into a
milquetoast.
Helpless, hapless, I lie on my bed,
coughing, wheezing,
temperature going up.
Visitors come with eyeful of sympathies,
mouthful of
wishes, handful of flowers
and in the middle I lie, under the ceiling of
boredom.
'Cheer up, Iyer, you are better than yesterday',
consoles the
doc, extending yet another bill,
unaware of my ailing
wealth.
* *
*
*
The battle is over, my heart is beating
to the
tune of windpipe, melody of life restored
uncertain morrows. Yet a halo
of sickness
still encloses my body. As I stepped out,
winter sun was
lukewarm, dews returned to grass tips,
birds were tweeting, roads were
dampened,
fog stayed at distance. Back in office all were smiles!
But
table full of papers - a beginning of another battle.