The three of them have come back
like firefighters armed and with
extraordinary force and new
chiseled weapons.
The first one crawls on me
drives me to make incessant
“ahem” sounds both in the high octaves
and the lowest bass.
The next encloses me in a tight net
a kind of suffocation occurs,
I try to squeeze, my chest blows
like the bellows.
The third one enforces a dizziness
I wriggle, curl and shove myself
into a blanket unable to tolerate
the cold.
The fighters keep me under control
each year during this month
throwing me out of gear. Love
to name the annual visitors in order.
cough, wheeze and fever
who never fail to grapple me
every year right from the age
of five.
Meenas Poems 