And Death Lingers On Poem by Aniruddha Pathak

In a twisted frame death lingers alive,
Pale rotting teeth ensconced in sunken jaw,
Nails crooked, bent inward like a clenched palm,
Death kept at bay by food forced on unwilling maw.

In hospital no better than a jail,
Hell to her might be better all the same,
For forty years oh ever since that night,
Violated she was when in inhuman shame.

Body it was mauled ere, now it's her mind
Locked in an unlocked room lacking sunlight,
She sure lives— like a shrunken grey brinjal,
Vegetables at least suffer no mental plight.

Freedom's what she's denied— a basic right,
Intruding tests to know her mental state,
Life's dignity—of which whatso is left,
Her only freedom— destiny's last date.

A friend fights battle lone— freedom to die,
Challenging letters of law mighty tall:
Defining what life is, what dignity,
What's freedom to live sans freedom to die at all?

She'd like naught better than in peace to die—
And die ere more dignity is denied,
Far from inhospitable pale prison,
Yet, sustained she's by liquid of life force-applied.

No one indeed be if that's no prison,
Far better off be one sentenced for life,
Her tormentor was jailed just for seven,
For no crime at all should she be punished so rife?

Where wisdom wears white wigs under black robes,
Blind folded where they see, nor hearken well,
Not oft does Fair Lady find eyes and ears,
Lo, lost in letters of law, justice rings no bell.

There are those that in mercy wish to die,
Wear new garments to start life once again,
Resignedly awaiting ropes some lie,
Life's none sans death as pleasure pales sans pain.
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She was a young nurse in Mumbai's KEM hospital. One night in 1974, she was brutalised by a sweeper in the hospital's bare basement and strangulated with a dog chain. Ever since she lives like a vegetable, artificially sustained by forced feeding hurtled down her unwilling throat. Her friend, a journalist, who has been fighting for her rights, brought her case to light. In defence she asked justice to define ‘life of dignity', courts appointed a panel of doctors whose report being too technical, vague and verbose, the court had to ask for an intelligible version. But, we often lack the virtue of brevity, clarity, and time. And while the courts decide she has been suffering mutely. She needs closure of her case more than debate on euthanasia. Besides, death is a friend and a liberator especially when life so smothered is no more life.

This piece is set in iambic pentameter. The fourth line of each quatrain is two syllables longer (hexameter) , echoing the underlying mood of the poem— lingering death. Read also, In search of dignity (04.03.11) .
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Happenings | 10.02.11 |