The Hypochondriac

He felt as if the solid roof of his house would abruptly collapse,
Burying him beneath a conglomerate of cement and bare brick.

He felt as if someone was following him in the darkened ambience of the night,
Would stab him with unrelenting strokes of switchblade knife.

He felt as if he would drown in shallow waters of the pool,
If he ever ventured to take a plunge and swim.

He felt as if there were wailing monsters descending from the sky,
Ready to rip apart precious chunks from his anatomy.

He felt as if the food he ate had traces of lethal venom,
Vomited his bowels clean prior to gulping even a morsel of food.

He felt as if the glass would shatter into infinite splinters,
The moment he caressed it with silken smooth fingers.

He felt he was brutally contaminated and impious,
The instant he touched the silver door knob obscured by minute linings of dust powder.

He felt as if human blood would trickle instead of mineral water,
If he stood under the protuberant nozzles of the bathroom shower.

He felt as if brittle tip of the pen would break,
Gallons of ink flow rampantly; the second he flexed his fingers to scribble.

He felt as if the liquid he consumed would strangulate his throat vein,
Suffocating intricate pipes leading to his brain.

He felt as if the soil would sink him in its colossal lap,
If he dared stepping on barren pinches of clay mud.

He felt as if a cluster of scorpion would pop out from his mouth,
The instant he hoisted his jaw to speak.

He felt sick; encompassed with intimidating bouts of fever; when his body felt a trifle warm after basking in sunlit rays.

He knew he was dying a ghastly death every unleashing minute of life,
Confronted with ludicrous ridicule from the society,
There were several of his kind spending their entire lives in cloistered rebuke,
With every filtering beam of dawn looming large as shivering night,
C’mon friends lets do the best we possibly can to help the hypochondriac.

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