Heal Thyself O Patient: Part Iv Poem by Aniruddha Pathak

‘Of malign growth no sign', the doc declared
Swirling into the cube I waited in,
With enough hints, his wisdom as he aired,
As if a kindly heart heaved in within,
His dire demeanours still notwithstanding;
‘And yet', added, looks darkening somewhat,
‘See on the left some growth—in a soft ring,
‘I've reasons to suspect and doubt than not'.

I see not else than my upper-arm bone,
Humerus as is called, but I'd like to
Call it funny, fun having too far gone!

Felt, silence seems most viable virtue
To one on the wrong side of a sick bone;
Quiet I weighed in his words of vague hue.
_________________________________________________
This is a sequence of nine sonnets on one theme. See the note at end of the last poem.
________________________________________________________
Sonnets | 06.11.12 |
Topic: body, nature, healing, doctor, patient