Wednesday, August 28, 2013

Unwell



There he lays,
A mere shadow on the bed,
Radiating heat, and
Sweat alike.

Sniffling for dear life,
From a tomato-red nose,
Shining below a crop of,
Haggard hair due to that medicinal dose.

Praying penance for the long days,
And even longer nights,
He regrets staying awake,
With the books under the bright lights.

A curse maybe,
Causing the system failure,
He prays ruefully,
To negate his machine’s error.

Not yet fine,
Nor completely well,
He tears apart from the mattress,
To answer the hysterical doorbell.

Later, between harrowed breaths he shuffles,
To the bright screen,
And types this small message,
Sweating and sniffling,
He is a feverish teen.

12 comments:

  1. Turning the disadvantage to your advantage,eh? :p

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  2. Fever and Cold oh I just hate them...They make me feel like I have no life left to live

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    Replies
    1. Seriously..the wait to get back in action seems to last an eternity..

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  3. Aa..Aa..Aaaaaa.... Aaaaknchiiiiiii :)

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  4. Wow! Beautifully written post, Karan. Keep up the good work. God bless. :)

    Rahul

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  5. I really love ur poems... More than ur stories i think :P ;) :D

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    Replies
    1. I'll take that as a complement bro..:P ;)

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