Then she
asks me to read the
Snellen’s chart,
A
chart,
which
by now, I know
by
heart.
But I
stumble
and
stammer, eyes twisted with
strain,
Trying to read
those
(fateful) alphabets, but
in
vain.
“Well, then!”
she says, “Its just a problem
of lycopersion,
And short sight and Excultism and
astigmatism,
I’ll
prescribe new
glasses and you’ll be all
right
Back
to normal
and
ever so
bright!
Then my mother’s
hand clutches her
purse
Out come
a few bright
notes, all for my eye’s
nurse,
Paying her,
I don’t mind
at all,
If only I could
stop these visits, once
and for all!
(P.S. The poetess is a helpless eye patient)
Divya Balakrishnan
