Disabled, Not Dead

Dedicated to those who live with disabilities or debilitating diseases,

But never give up.

You are amazing!


‘Tis not difficult,

When the same breath,

You take for granted,

The same vital red,

That animates veins, mine and yours.

Leaves me gasping,

Wanting for more.

Yet all I get, is a black vacuum,

And tubes, slithering invasively,

Down my parched throat.

‘Tis not difficult,

When chores you think common,

Or when you go,

Bounding up those stairs,

I am left watching from sidelines,

Or staggering through,

On crutches, taking my time,

Or forever being wheelchair,

Or bed bound;

All I do is lumber behind.

‘Tis not difficult

When love, lust and progeny,

Mankind’s ancient legacy,

Are denied to me,

For mayhap my flesh is weak,

Or my womb sterile,

Nevermind that in my soul,

Atlas himself resides,

And my heart is,

Like a child’s, agile.

O! ’tis truly difficult when,

You, as mortal as me,

In essence, just as weak,

Treat me like I’m born of clay,

You judge me by my affliction,

Mock me, pity me, fake affection.

Why must you think if you push me too hard,

I may, stumble, I may shatter,

Or worse still, give up on life?

End my grim existence, riddled with strife?

I’m not weak, not pitiable either,

I want not sympathy, indifference neither.

While ’tis true my ‘normal’ ain’t yours,

I still yearn for a life as ‘full’ as yours.

Dream I do, just as you too,

Ambitions I have just as strong,

Yet, unlike you,

Bewailing hollow mishaps,

Destiny has assigned me,

A greater wrong.

But even so, life to me is beautiful,

It has it’s moments of misery, but still,

Each morn when I wake up alive,

I thank the Gods for gifting me a ‘life’.

A ‘duty to live’,

The God’s unto me bequeathed,

And this honour,

To my end days I shall keep.

O Death, holding that scythe, begone!

The day for my return, has not yet dawned.

The will and the chance to live,

Beats strong within my breast,

I’ll fight along, till the day of the final rest.

And when then, on my death bed I shall lay,

Dear Death! I won’t fear you, nay,

For my heart, old or young,

Shall be content with memories long,

Of a ‘life’ lived in it’s true sense,

Where the vessel perchance weak,

But the soul was iron- strong.


Copyright ©2017 by Pradita Kapahi.

All rights reserved.

Images Credits: dennisflarsen at www.pixabay.com





43 thoughts on “Disabled, Not Dead

  1. Pradita,


    “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in your weakness.”
    This is what God declares to us as written in the Bible.

    His grace fills the sort comings in our weaknesses of any sort whether we are disabled, troubled​ with difficult illnesses or normal human being with some difficult life situations.

    You had reflected your heart’s cry… A cry which literally burst out very strongly in this poem.

    You have a talent which touches people deep down in their hearts. Keep using that till the end. God bless you!

    Liked by 1 person

  2. You know by now how much this poem speaks to me, you write like silk, it smoothes over the page and it touches the soul. It’s something wonderful to read for struggling times.

    Liked by 2 people

      • Thanks quite alright Pradita. I’ve only jut come back to blogging after a small break since things have gotten intense with certain things but I’m trying to manage hence I may miss some posts. You can e-mail when you are free as we both understand each other. ☺

        Liked by 1 person

    • That is so right girl. I know a few people who inspite of their disabilities and diseases still carry on, still fight on every single day. They are true heros. True fighters. Our problems seem so small before theirs.

      Liked by 1 person

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