It was a tiny pustule,
That welled up as a sore,
And erupted,
The doctors diagnosed it as caste,
Its not cancer they said,
It’s just a sore,
It’s benign,
Not malignant,
So do not worry,
The doctors do not know,
It eats the soul and corrupts mind,
It’s a pustule and a sore,
That bursts and overflows,
It becomes malignant,
When I was young it was a pustule,
With taunts it grew to be a sore,
Its genetic, they said,
Hereditary has a large role to play,
Like diabetes,
So do not worry,
But my school mates say its contagious,
And ask me to sit separate,
They will be infected by touch,
I wonder if it’s benign as the doctors say,
But my schoolmates say its malignant,
I am worried it could be malignant,
So seek a cure,
At the local temple nearby,
The priest said it is malignant,
It is your karma, he said,
For there is no cure.

© Mathew Thomas,2013

Mathew Thomas

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/karma-71/

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published.