The last of our guests left last Thursday after an entire month of festivities and family gatherings. Just when I thought I’d put my feet up and get back to writing, reading and art, my husband returned from work feeling unwell. The test showed positive leaving us feeling anything but positive! As per the current rules in Mumbai, nobody from the house can step out if anybody tests positive, and nobody can come in. This means that the onus of running the house, cooking the meals and cleaning is on me. The girls and I did the test the next day, and it was negative, which was a good thing. However, ever since the test, I have been getting a fever in the afternoons and nights and feeling chill to my bones when I’m feverish. There’s nothing I can do about it since I’ve tested negative. So, I’ve been popping in ‘Dolo’ for fever, ‘Ibuprofen’ for the headache and ‘Relent’ for the cold and handling it while hubby dear is recuperating inside the room.
Anyway, with nowhere to go and no energy to do anything except the bare minimum, I was glad this poem wrote itself out this morning when I saw a dead fly. Being locked in means, there’s only so much I get to see :).
Writing this silly poem is a way to get back to life which is ironic since the poem itself is about death. I hate that I’m already halfway through January and have been barely active on my blog or anywhere else, for that matter. But it is a reminder that health is precious – it is difficult to do anything when one is down with the flu or omicron or is unwell in any way. So, if you’re out there cribbing about how life sucks because something’s not going your way, but you are blessed with good health, remember to be thankful for it.
Last evening I saw a fly
perched on the couch
It did not move when I went near
'Oh dear!' thought I, with a sigh
'It looks like it's going to die.'
In I went
For a piece of paper
to use as a swatter but when I returned,
It was no longer there.
'How far could it have gone?' I mused
And looked for it under the cushions
And under the throws;
on the sofa and on the floor
But there was not a sign of it
This morning I saw it
on its back with its legs
up in the air- Dead!
I picked it with a tissue
And threw it in the bin
And thought, 'Better this way-
than committing murder!'
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Eúnoia 
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