The cancer patient

Cancer began with his insides
And soon, attacked his handsome face
And the rest of his body and his happiness
And his freedom and his movement
And his faith in God.
 
He struggled to know
What curse, what ill-will
Had willed the bastard in his body;
He lost trust in justice, in fate,
For he knew, he had wronged none.
 
He feared the moments when the doctors
Let his children in, to see his wasted face;
He wished to be saved the ignominy
Of hearing his wife say, bravely,
‘To me, you are still beautiful.’
 
And yet, death was the last thing he wanted-
That would be too easy a victory
That would be surrendering to the bastard.
He would take all the chemicals, all the rays it takes
To kill the coward, once. Just once.
 
But that victory was not to be-
The doctors gave up before he did;
And as fate or justice or God stood aloof,
Silently, into the night he went,
Taking the bastard down with him.
 
***
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About Abhishek

I will let the blog speak for itself...or, at times, for me. View all posts by Abhishek

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