Passion…unbridled

“Is there nothing else that can be done?”

I hear the plea in their voices, I see the desperation

In their eyes as I try to have this difficult conversation

In this miserable, tragic situation

I am not the treating physician but I happen to be

The one medically literate person in the family

The prognosis given by the treating team is dismal

It is hard for loved ones to grapple with this reality abysmal

I have tried to reach out to experts that I know

For my efforts, I have nothing positive to show

My medical training also tells me their physician is right

Unfortunately there is no tool left with which they can fight…

*

I feel torn between reason and emotion

I wish there existed a magical potion,

An experimental drug, a novel therapy

A medication that could work serendipitously

But I know we are just in the bargaining stage of grieving

Desperate to ensure no stone unturned we are leaving..

*

Dealing with impending death of a loved one

Is the hardest thing to do, knowing that a hideous disease has won

The battle in a young person causes excruciating pain

It feels like all efforts and prayers have been in vain

There is no alternative but to come to terms with reality in the end

A grim reminder of the limit to which human influence can extend..

Language has a rhythm, words have a flow

When you substitute prose with poetry you know

The cadence of each syllable, the symmetry of rhyme

Words find expression in a manner sublime

In a harmonious sequence that mimics

Cleverly arranged notes in music

With rhythmic brevity, a poem conveys

Its message in an oblique, circuitous way..

*

I love the underlying cadence

Of words arranged in a rhyming sequence

A poem read out loud all my senses does engage

Amalgamates the best of rhythm and language

Each word, each syllable has an impact

It is an immersive experience in fact

I know I can soak myself thoroughly

In a lyrical poem’s vivid imagery..

Well-written prose nourishes my mind

But my soul is nourished when a beautiful poem I find

(I read about a Yupik mother creating alphabet coloring book for her children in Alaska because she could not find one, and came up with this idea. There are Indian entrepreneurs who started their businesses because they could not find what they wanted within the United States.

I wanted stuff that represented my roots but I could not

Find anything suitable despite searching a lot

All the stuff available catered to the dominant culture alone

There were many people like me around, but for reasons unknown

My culture appeared to have minimal representation

In books, artistic objects and fashion..

How could I pass on our cultural heritage to my son

If appropriately themed objects I had none?

*

I never thought a businesswoman I could be

But in the lack of cultural representation I saw an opportunity

If you want something that is not available to you

Then creating it instead of fretting about it is the best thing to do

So I collaborated with other community members to create

A series of products that my cultural heritage would incorporate

My vision was audacious, my experience non-existent

But to bring my idea to life was my sole intent

Because there was a market demand, my business

Despite a modest start, soon became a success

From clothing items to home decor to toys, coloring books and more

Contemporary functionality blends with cultural aesthetic in my store..

*

Where there is a need and a will

There appears a way that allows you to fulfill

That need- my business on this principle was created

Now my cultural heritage is on display to be celebrated

I tried to tell my healthcare team something did not feel right

My concerns were dismissed as a consequence of sleepless nights

As a young mother- I was told it would not last long

I was a mother, and mothers were supposed to be strong…

But I was dealing with exhaustion extreme after a year and some more

It was not something I had heard before..

I pleaded for some tests to be run on me

And was found to be anemic profoundly

Finally I was able to get the treatment I needed

Because I was persistent, my body’s signs I had heeded..

*

Approaching my sixth decade, I was feeling bad

Most days of the week, weird symptoms I had

I saw my doctor but my symptoms were attributed

To menopause, I wish I could have more forcefully refuted

The insinuation that my chest discomfort was “functional”

Because my estrogen had plummeted to a level dismal..

That feeling in my chest turned out to be

Due to near-total occlusion of my main coronary

Thankfully it was found before I had a heart attack

It was not hormones but blood supply that I lacked..

*

Even in this age and day, women’s complaints are not taken

As seriously as those voiced by men

From hormones to anxiety to multitasking, everything gets blamed

But the actual complaint of a woman is ignored all the same

Unless a woman happens to be persistent

In advocating for herself- or there is a catastrophic event..

In healthcare all of us including women

Are guilty of listening selectively to men..

*

I am ashamed that such biases exist in medicine

When a woman voices her complaints, we must learn to listen

To her concerns, and not dismiss them as “in the mind”

Many illnesses much earlier we would be able to find

I read a post then compulsively scroll

Through the comments, go down a rabbit hole

Of never-ending fear-mongering and negativity

Almost as if under a spell, forgetting my proclivity

Towards anxiety as I continue to consume

All the toxicity online, through scenarios describing doom

Most of the time I am completely unaware

Of my self-destructive behavior when I should be practicing self-care

Until I have stopped scrolling and have had time to reflect

Upon what I have read- once I have had time to dissect

The post, related comments and their effects on me

I realize how I have subjected myself to needless misery

All the negativity, hate and vitriol

Have left me angry- I must not doom-scroll

If I want to stay level-headed and calm

If I want to avoid self-harm..

I turn this way and that, raise or lower my chin

Trying to stand or sit at different angles to appear thin

Restrain my natural smile so my teeth do not show

Try to get on my face that artificial glow

Re-take pictures a few times because I am not

Satisfied- I look worse in the photographs than I thought

The unmistakable signs of age I am trying to hide

To look my best, every trick in the book I’ve tried

My photographers too end up exasperated with me

I’ve tested their patience to the maximum degree

*

I sift through my pictures, disappointed that they have not

Turned out as well as I had hoped and thought

The background is beautiful, the scenery breathtaking

But looking at my subpar pictures, my heart is breaking

There are hardly any pictures good enough for me to post online

I look old, disheveled, a few pounds heavier than the image I have in my mind…

*

After I have fretted over my bad pictures to my heart’s content

I realize I have become obsessed to a dangerous extent

Regarding how I look in pictures because people who see

My profile online should have a favorable image of me

The weird thing is that in real life I care much less

About my appearance- the people I meet frequently I have no desire to impress

But if I am being honest I pay much less attention

To appearances in real life, I focus more on interaction

With others, while online I seem to scrutinize

People in their pictures- it sounds pathetic, I now realize..

*

While trying to look presentable in photographs is fine

Looking artificially better for the sole purpose of posting online

Is something from which I must consciously stay away

At this self obsession I must try to chip away

All the time I spend worrying goes down the drain

My anxiety is futile, my theoretical concerns in vain

But somehow I have made myself believe the superstition

That worrying about something would prevent it from reaching fruition

I am grateful when the calamities about which I’ve fantasized

Never actually end up getting realized

*

I know life cannot be smooth sailing all the way

I know plans can be derailed any day

I keep plausible contingencies in mind

But I am still unable to relax, I find

The contemplation of a disaster is much worse than being in the throes

Of an actual situation, when my brain knows

That I have to actually act, I have no time to visualize

Hypothetical scenarios, I have to deal with what is before my eyes

I am not that bad at troubleshooting actual issues that arise

Even though I constantly dread an unpleasant surprise

*

Much well-intentioned advice is focused on channeling positive thoughts

I have been trying that forever but I cannot

Switch from worrying to thinking everything would be fine

The only trick that seems to work is to distract my mind

By engaging it in other activities that are productive

That is how with anxiety I am learning to cope and live..

Hundreds of thousands of pages I have read

From the time I learnt to read, I have fed

My brain thousands of nuggets of phrases and sentences

Packaged into stories that still occupy my senses

I have been reading all these years but now I feel

An overwhelming urge to write, to reveal

All the thoughts and emotions swirling through my mind

For the stories stored in my memory, an outlet I want to find..

*

When I think about writing, various roadblocks I face

Should I write a memoir or should I fictionalize the characters and place

Should I write in poetry or in prose

What if I open a can of worms I cannot close

What if unwittingly someone’s unseemly secrets I reveal

What if I unearth hidden trauma from which I myself cannot heal..

*

So many doubts come up when I try

To write something substantial, that is why

I restrict my writing to short verses that do not

Have to describe in detail my thoughts

*

One day I hope I shall gather the courage

To write a long story, page by page…

When I need to find a few moments in my day

To escape the pressures of work and go away

To a different place, I mentally disengage

From work and turn to a crisp blank page

Of my notebook and begin to write

At first writer’s block I have to fight

But then I get into the writing groove

And my pen synchronously with my thoughts starts to move..

*

I lose myself completely as I try to create

A space for myself to think and contemplate

The complexities of life, as I continue to pour

My thoughts into words, I gain insight that I lacked before

*

Sometimes I am fortunate enough

To complete my writing, but often it is tough

To take my verses to a conclusion

The demands of work invariably cause interruption

*

I come back to my unfinished work eventually

And I feel grateful to witness the clarity

That my writing escape has helped me find

Those stolen moments have done wonders for my mind..

If you as a leader want a perspective wide

Include someone from the other side

On your team, listen to their views

Respectfully, and then carefully choose

As the team leader, your overall approach

Hopefully you take a decision beyond reproach..

*

You can choose people who side with you

Who support you in everything you do

Unwaveringly, then your deliberations would proceed

Without opposition, it would be smooth sailing indeed..

But if you have someone with opposite views to state

You can expect some friction, some debates

The end result would be more balanced, though

As your opponent has offered the perspective you did not know

*

Don’t just sit in echo chambers with sycophants around

Let opposing voices also make a sound

Both sides of a coin are valuable, therefore

Listen to the other side some more

I look completely normal but I hide

A deep seated burden inside

Of chronic illness that does not

Allow me to be carefree- the thought

Of instability is never far from my mind

If I am not careful I know I can find

Myself in deep trouble, even a life-threatening emergency

I have to plan for every contingency..

*

You may wonder why I often do not go

Along with your spur of the moment plans, you should know

That plans in my life are rarely made on the spot

Behind my seemingly spontaneous decisions is much thought

I can conquer the world if I am well prepared

To tackle my condition, but I can crash if caught unaware

*

Although I think I manage my condition quite well

On a false sense of security, I never dwell

Unpredictability is the name of the game

No matter how much this illness I tame

*

The constant reminder of my illness

Sometimes gets overwhelming, I confess

I long to do things and go places without

Having to consider my limitations throughout..

*

I am still learning to take life day by day

I know I can easily get carried away

In catastrophizing when things do not appear conducive

But then go back to safety and stability- with this dichotomy I live

I write about issues that are close to my heart

To give expression to my thoughts and emotions I create my art

But I would be lying if I said my art or writing are just for me

I would love for my work to be disseminated widely

Although I focus on enjoying the creative process

If people would see my work, I would count is as a success

I would not be as bothered by criticism or negative comments

As I am by the thought of my work staying irrelevant…

*

Ah, I think it is my ego at play here

It has been bruised over the years, I fear

It makes its ire known to me

It wants validation externally

*

Writing by itself should be validation

Of my ability to write, I should not harbor an expectation

For someone else to read what I write

Writing is for self-expression, of this I should not lose sight…