I had bad headache.
I went to see my doctor.
He ordered an MRI of my head.
I come home.
She asks what the doc said.
It seems like a glioblastoma in my head
That's what he said.
What does it mean, she asked.
I will be dead in six months, he said.
She put her head in her hands
and cried and cried, loudly.
Why cry?
It is the dead end, I said.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Excellent writing Ravi Thank you for sharing Mario Odekerken