Ode to Alzheimer’s

She sits and stares 
At space and I wonder 
Where her train of thoughts takes her now?
She then smiles absentmindedly at me
What fragment of a well-worn life
Passes her broken mind?
I ask myself.

She asks my name
I tell her patiently
She has already forgotten 
That it has been told, just a while before.
She reaches out with trembling hands
I clasp hers and steady
Her hand in mine.

Oh, Alzheimer!
You stole this sweet woman!
I shudder as I watch her face
Turn blank again and as she whimpers soft
Lost in her fractured memory
My tears begin to fall


Connect with Penmancy:


Anne Adarsh

Anne Adarsh is a radiologist by profession but finds herself repeatedly returning to her first love in all things. Poetry. A self-confessed Recluse also blessed (or cursed perhaps!), with an insatiable curiosity to learn new things, writing to her, means a landscape in her mind's eye, to which she can always escape to, whenever life closes in on her.

Latest posts by Anne Adarsh (see all)


Let us know what you think about this story.

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.