On my left wrist,
My left knee &
My memory
I carry the vestiges of 7th May, 2010.
Physical marks of,
A grievous peril
When I was
I was on the death bed, the bed number 7.
Dreaded bed it is,
In the SGRH &
Only those
Hopeless cases with death knocking are granted 7.
Only child I am,
My parents
Were
Apprehensive about my survival from the 20-day coma.
But their worries,
Care & concern
Paid off
And today I write this poem - contrary to what the doctors had initially said.
And the people,
They wince
At My
Scars - Scared from their own instant imagination of the pain that I've been through.
To some other people,
I'm a living miracle
And to others
I am just a man who glorifies his sufferings - to his own merit anywhere and everywhere .
To the ones of the last kind,
I just have the words
That nobody can
Or rather nobody wants to change their thinking or tell them to try knocking their senses off for weeks.
Initially after my accident when I was in a general hospital, the doctors there had told my father to do the last services & just shook their heads to my mother
SGRH - Sir Ganga Ram's Hospital is a state-of-the-art hospital located at New Delhi where I was saved - by the doctors, my own will-power & my well-wishers' blessings
© Atul Kaushal
