A Blessed Q-Tip

And suddenly it swells up inside your head,
gnawing from the inside,
a woodpecker in heaven among the forests of your mind,
as your eyes open in shock
and irritation, fingers thrusting
desperately into your ears in vain
trying to stop the slightest trickle of water,
gushing like a faucet down the farthest passage
inside your ears, and every second
without relief stretches on the rubber-band of time
lasting for hours before snapping
and bringing you right back down to this moment again,
as you clench your jaw,
like a great cat frustrated with a mouse
gloating from its tiny hole in the wall,
until your fingers give up
and instead begin searching frantically,
pouring through desks and drawers, cabinets and shelves,
until at last they stumble upon the holy grail of medicine,
a Q-tip, plain and simple,
and you gaze at it in awe for just a moment
as the heavens bless it,
beaming down a shimmering spotlight,
before you violently send the snake in after the rats,
and it flushes them out, every stroke
creating beautiful butterflies of pleasure.

                                                                                                © Nihal Parthasarathi

Loch Raven Review Fall 2005 — Vol. I, No. 1
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