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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.
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Dec 16, 2012
Dec 16, 2012 at 11:47 AM UTC
Atul
I'm Scarred - They're Scared
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.
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