Monday, September 26, 2016


Cancer is  that which we can say in no other way.

Cancer is the scream in the night.
Cancer is silent rage.
Cancer is always  betrayal;
Always  love and hate,
Fear and Forgiveness.

Cancer is pain, fatigue and forgetting.
Incomprehensible demoralization
Why me?

Cancer is disillusionment for the secular man
Whose religion does not begin with:

Life is suffering unto death.
This world is but an illusion, Moksha
Death is divine for those whose life is punishment.
Cancer is incarceration.

Cancer is slow suicide
In a world of free will without determinism
Otherwise it’s just an accident or fate.
Cancer is life with partial death
Cancer is the drama of one downmanship
In the competition of disease
In the community of denial and apartheid.

Cancer is one way of dying in a world
Anxious and alone
Always In shit and piss,
As we were born.

Death comes to us all.
Cancer is but a gift of premonition.

Spontaneous remissions and miracles, just names
The cure, within and without, but more within within.
And never permanent.
Life is temporary, a rental,  at best, a lease.
Laughter is all that is free.

There is no darkness in the light.
There is no hiding place,
Not even in cancer.

Disease is ever metaphor,
It begins in an idea ,
And ends in a period,
Perhaps a comma,
Certainly a question mark,
Always an exclamation point:


And I am crying too.
We are not alone.

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