“Save me,
save me!” Cries the wife who has fallen down the stairs; hit her head; and gone
mad
The husband,
observes helplessly, desolate and miserable, with an expression so very sad
The
bedridden wife shouts angrily – it is not her, who is insane!
Wondering
with bewildered eyes - why can’t anyone believe her - she lashes in pain
The husband,
the doctor, and all others patiently try to comfort her mind
Knowing
fully well that with each passing day, chances of recovery are hard to find
Earlier,
everyone around saw, in their quaint little home, love quietly thrived
She tended
to him; cared for him, and her joy multiplied
He, the
silent writer, his pen danced on pages, his passion alive
A tale of
two hearts, in the shadows they’d hide
Now, wife,
lying on the bed, stretched her gleaming swan-like neck
Hoping to
reach out to someone like a lotus from the beck
In her
madness, asking everyone to take her away from home,
Screaming,
moaning cursing everybody under the dome
In the old
oak bed, memories come knocking and rocking
She, with a
damp face, crying, screaming, hissing and mocking
Nurse tussles,
clasps her hands, holding tight her tender feet,
Struggling
to bring the food against her mouth to make her feel good and eat.
Husband is
beside her, always like a moonlit willow branch
Wishing,
hoping for her recovery, a day of revived romance
He tries to
forget the pain, drowning himself in his writing
A prolific
writer who is famous for his novels exciting
Family, neighbors, and people all around stay in worry and fear
For the
wellbeing of the Husband whose patience is held sublime for years
In the
chamber of dreams, where thoughts take flight,
The husband weaves
tales in the soft neon light.
With
parchment and quill, he forges his art,
In the
sanctum of silence, he finds every part.
Disturb not
his reverie, this sacred abode,
Where verses
are born, where the stories unfold.
Then one day
in the darkness of the middle of the night
When the
screaming of the wife slowly becomes weak and slight
With eyes
fiercely gleaming, drowning his head in writing, the husband recalled
The day he
threw his wife down the stairs, and how her body lay bloodied and mauled
"Take
rest, Stop writing, my dear," she did beseech
"Leave me alone, you're a bothersome wretch!"
Remembering
how the wife’s eyes filled with shock and fright
Her frail
body flew down the stairs almost like the mane of horses in their flight
Satisfied, with
a twisted grin, and a harsh voice, the husband groaned
Anyone who
comes in between me and my writing will be stoned!
