“Seated atop a narrow, high three-legged stool”
Picture me
Seated atop a narrow, high three-legged stool
Perched precariously and looking down
On two tables, of size undefined.
I could be on a ladder for all I know.
It matters not
However, for the record, I do not like heights.
Here goes
On one, side my brain, and the other my heart
Placed on pristine white tablecloths
On two wobbly tables.
Three legs or four?
Not sure.
Between them a fierce ongoing tussle
And me, the referee, staring blankly at both
Yet unable to comprehend
The ‘Covid’ saga, which predominates.
A rigmarole of epic proportions.
They - vacillating on the outcome.
It is heart versus head, and then there is me
The vessel – mystified
At times disoriented – at others optimistic
Supposedly, holding it all together.
“More suffering, death and destruction
To finally annihilate humankind”,
Feels the heart.
“Better vaccines, drugs and yet unfound remedies to the rescue”
Says the brain.
“It is the beginning of the end”
Says the heart
“It is just a brand new beginning”
Says the brain
“A cleansing and revival of sorts”
Say both in unison
“It is a rude awakening”
Says a voice in the distance
“What’s happening?”
Say I
A myriad of assumptions flood my brain
Fearful premonitions overwhelm my heart
However, I live in HOPE
“E’en the small violet feels a future power
And waits each year renewing blooms to bring,
And surely man is no inferior flower
To die unworthy of a second spring?” ( JC)
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