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Regard the conflagration in my wake!
An inexorable inferno burning bridge after bridge.
Emancipate me from the shackles of bipolar.
Release me,
I beseech thee!
From the indignations of my past.
Take up the quill,
I will,
And relate my tale of woe I shall.
But wait!
An incandescent silver lining!?
Was it not the mystic Gibran who proclaimed that the more melancholy carves into your being the more joy it can contain?
Adorn my face not with a masquerade,
But with a smile that never fades.
And off into the kingdom of the sick I shall foray.
With lineament and manner, borne out of experience, as my instruments of healing.
And as I behold my neighbours gaze.
She whispers,
You are a good doctor, Dr. Hankir
And unbridled joy gushes forth from my heart.
“It is you who heals me my dear and not me who heals you…’

Ahmed Hankir (c)