Apprehension

I hurt my foot at the bottom of the stairs.
Now I am scared.
How will I climb up through the layers?!

"Minor sprain," the voice
from the aseptic shroud says.
Caricature of a comforting statement.

The ladder is long,
And shadows gather behind me.
Shadows, they instill in me
Things I would rather not have.

I remember my Grandma:
Picture of quiet & snow hair,
Telling animated stories of goodness and honesty,
Surrendered to the deep belief
Of her sons' dedication to duties.

I was angry then,
And I am angry now.
But an amateurish picture of Grandma
Is all that I paint.

(c)Atanu Prasad Sarma