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(26 Dec 1969, yet to kick the bucket. / Mahuva, Gujarat, India.)

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Dementia - Dr N Vachharajani's bête noir

I did not believe in ghosts,
Till I saw one evolve,
Right in front of my eyes,
A man turn into an empty soul.

Eyes that used to once shimmer,
With love and professional pride,
Turned dull and warehouses of fear,
Yellow and gazing for the non existent queer.

He was a doctor, a man of science,
To see he gnawed and eaten alive,
Was a horror drama unfolding alive.

He started getting messages,
From the prime minister,
To the president,
He asked me to fetch medicines,
That were dispatched without addresses.

There were times he doubted his food,
He doubted me, he doubted everybody,
He doubted all but the voices that seized him,
And I knew the man Who loved me,
Was long dead before common Pneumonia killed him.

Submitted: Monday, March 18, 2013


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Comments about this poem (A Poet's Prize by Hardik Vaidya )

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  • Douglas Scotney (3/18/2013 8:43:00 PM)

    no wonder they're scary.

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