Is a fever some scary ghost
Or a defiant guest to flimsy host
Feels boiled eggs in your burning eyes
And the face shrinks to a tiny size
Like emery paper is your throat
and ice creams left to all you dote
fresh air and windows are for all
but you in blanket with paracetamol
tottering on two twisted twigs
the spine feels like a core of figs
it has all your tastes to seize
you crave for absent lemony cheese
for no more bread and milk to take
you do whatever you can fake
with neck and shoulders pains flirt
repulsive remains your fetid shirt
as much welcome is a touch on you
is as much different a touch of you
the stairs you would leap like frog
you climb on them now like a sloth
does it descend to avenge some sin
or to burn your darkness residing in
horlicks and juices and some days
you remain confined to your bays
with sleep and bedtime stories
may mark it as a reconciliation lease.
