By Parag Mallik:
Dear Cancer,
I will not start this with a typical “How are you?” because unfortunately I do know how you are. I have a friend who seems to know you. And he told me that you have not only happily sabotaged him but also barged your way into his liver and I fear that you might be taking up new dwellings.
Maybe he cannot take the rigorous poisoning that has all gone to subdue you in the past. But do know that he has learned a lot. Yet it feels like he’s on a roundabout that is progressively gyrating with unimaginable speed and thanks to you, he cannot jump off.
I’ve never heard you talk but your voice must be creepy and jeering. I’ve never seen you but your face must be distorted and sinister. And you must be a coward as you are skilled in the art of silent attacks. Speaking of art, my friend also has an amazing flair for art. And he has been trying to paint your mundane, black canvas to blooming white again.
He is equipped with splashes of white, droplets of grey, streaks of bright red and lines of ambitious blue. But you’ve been gifted with the power of black against which my adept friend becomes feeble.
Who knows what both of your futures hold? Maybe one of those marvelous, imperishable reports might put you to sleep forever or maybe all his endeavors fail and we see daisies before the year ends. No answers.
But I know he isn’t done yet. Your black canvas can wait, but my friend will submerge it into brilliant hues of promising life. So, that is where you both stand. Undoubtedly, I know the days to come will fall hard on both of you, but I hope, wickedly, more on you.
Kind regards,
An Angry Vicious Pacifist.
This article was originally published on the author’s personal blog.