My legs may be shaky but I want to stand on them only.
I visit the doctor with my wobbly, shaky legs.
He takes a long look and decides upon a beautiful label:
Gazing at him with my wrinkled yet clear eyes,
I ask, what does it mean doctor?
“The cartilage is worn, no worries,
We will fix,” peering through his glasses,
Says he, “when did the shakes begin?
As I speak, a betrayed smile jiggles on my
At twelve, my legs looked buxom
Like a rubber ball.
The onlookers would stop by
And steal a look.
I shuddered the first time around
when those strong hands,
Giving two hoots to my agonizing screams,
Tore them apart.
However, in no time these
Plushded up nicely with lean muscles of youth,
Akin to the fleshy thighs of a hen.
When they tremored the next time,
It was in sheer intoxication of youth.
Married in the next four years,
A pair of strong legs conjoined my lonely legs.
A princess in my own fairyland,
Ecstatic, I walked gracefully in all sauciness.
A fine morning, the other pair of legs left home
And never did return.
Numerous legs walked along mine at this point in time
And wounded mine a greater number of time.
The jolt thus experienced was a bit too much
For my poor legs to take.
So, for once, I decided
To forsake the company of all,
As I adored my own more.
Many years passed by since then.
White moles have blossomed upon my
Gentle skin and my vigor is but a story of the past.
No one on the streets would stop and admire;
And I have ceased to care.
A walking stick was offered to help me out,
Which I politely rejected.
“How about crutches” the doctor blurted in between.
I cut him short and firmly stated:
However weak and wobbly they may be,
They are mine and my own
And I like to stand on them only!
Image via Pixabay
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Blogger, writer, traveler.
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