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Five Rooms Before The Light
1. Denial
I told the doctor, “Check again — your pen is clearly drunk.”
He tapped the chart; I tapped my chest; both made a hollow thunk.
I argued with my mirror too — it swore I looked just fine,
though it’s been lying for years about the wrinkles on my spine.
2. Anger
Then anger barged in loudly, like a guest who lost his way,
complaining that the universe should offer better pay,
yelled at fate, at gravity, at socks that slip and slide—
but fury burns its fuel too fast; it sputtered, then it died.
3. Bargaining
I bargained with the cosmos like a shopper at a stall:
“Two extra years for kindness, and I’ll stop ignoring calls”
promised I’d eat broccoli, meditate, and stretch—
but destiny just raised an eyebrow, unimpressed with my pitch.
4. Depression
Then sorrow came to visit, wearing slippers, soft and slow,
it brewed a pot of silence, poured a cup of undertow,
let the sadness settle in, a roommate paying rent—
yet even in that heavy hush, some fragile hope was bent.
5. Acceptance
Acceptance didn’t trumpet in; it knocked with gentle grace,
as if it knew the timing of a heart’s most tender place.
It said, “You’ve loved enough to matter; laughed enough to stay alive.
The road ahead is quieter now — no need to run or strive.”
So here I rest, not fearless, but no longer fighting night;
smile at shadows on the wall — they’re learning to be light.
If death’s a door, I’ll open it with half a grin, not dread;
I’ve packed my jokes, my memories too — they travel well ahead.
And should tomorrow greet me, I’ll greet it back with cheer—
But if it doesn’t, that’s alright…
I’ve made my peace,
I’ve warmed my heart,
and joy is waiting
near, slightly ahead… |
