Tuesday, June 19, 2012
Did I lock the door?
I'm not so sure
Its just been a few minutes
I've not walked too far
Will go back and check it.
There! Its locked. That's good
Now I'm sure, I can leave
Time to continue on my way, I'm running late...
...Wait! Am I really sure?
What if I turned the key without locking it?
Must go back again
But this time wash my hands
For surely, they've been soiled
Slight stain on the side
A good scrub should wash it off.
There! Hands Clean, time to go...
...Wait! Did I just touch the toilet handle?
Can't possibly leave with hands contaminated
I have to start all over again
Have to wash my hands over again.
NB: The Oxford handbook describes Compulsions as senseless, repeated rituals. And Obsessions as stereotyped, purposeless words, ideas, or phrases that come into the mind.
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Sunday, June 17, 2012
I once knew a Doctor's wife
You would have thought she was a Doctor
but she had no degree
apart from her love for her husband.
She knew all the doses of the drugs
She knew where all the drugs were kept
She knew most of the patients in the wards
She could almost guess the right diagnosis if asked.
She attended the Women's Ante-Natal classes
And even got up to lecture the pregnant women
She monitored the nurses
And kept a keen eye on the accounts.
I never had a problem with the Doctor's wife
Until that fateful day
When she put her head through my door
And suggested what drug I should give my patient.
Monday, June 11, 2012
Try as he could
He could not wash away the blood stains
His hands remained crimson red
He turned on the hot water.
He'd done it hundreds of times
This couldn't be any different
Bar after bar of soap lathering into the sink.
Was he hallucinating?
Tired and spent, he slid into his room
Surely, after a nap, it would all be gone
Must prepare for tomorrow.
The baby voices came through the night
Shrill, distinct, eerie
They laughed; their chatter hounding him
He clutched his sheets.
"What do you want?" He asked
They continued to haunt him
Waking up, his body drenched with sweat
A new day, he had a decision to make.
Out, damned spot! Out, I say! ~Lady Macbeth.
Sunday, June 10, 2012
The fever raged like a wildfire through her body
Eating up everything in sight
It burned, the embers searing her being
Finally releasing the ashes on her frail skin
Her skin was hot, so hot.
She was too weak to move
Her limbs unable to respond to the simple order by her mind.
"Move!" They were told
But all they could do was hang limply by her side
They could easily have belonged to someone else.
Her mind which gave the orders already facing its own crisis
The real had become the unreal
The known had become the unknown
Her mind played tricks on her
As the virus marched unopposed through her brain.
Her body showed the result of the assault
Her weight no more than a ten year old's
Her skin as pale as the mid-day sun
Her legs spindly as spaghetti sticks
A bag of bones, she looked, pleading at me.
Wednesday, June 6, 2012
There were so many cars
Glistening under the heat of the mid-day sun
Cars brought by Beautiful people
Indeed, the beautiful ones are already born.
It could easily have been a rally for a political party
Or business men gathered, waiting for a meeting
It could have passed for a student congress
Or a wealthy society meeting.
Looking from afar, it would appear so
A closer look would change that point of view
For what appeared like a society meeting
Were grieved people, all waiting for a cue.
Its been a national disaster
Of the worst kind any can imagine
The mournful faces come to identify their dead
Their loved young, adult, and aging.