by Sultana Raza
Life was fodder, spinning mind the loam,
Caught between forces, old and young,
By pitiless physician was scarce breath teased,
Envious entities were pleased to steal,
Couldn’t keep his dreams for long in sight.
[Author’s note] Despite numerous obstacles, Keats managed to fulfill some of his poetical duties, which, he wrote, his own soul had decreed to him. He got an honourable discharge from life, which was so full of problems that it may have felt like a sentence on earth.
Did the Fates meddle too much in Keats’s life and steal his hours? He died too young. The physician in Rome seems to have misdiagnosed his condition, and his medical treatment would be considered inhumane these days.
Copyright © 2017 by Sultana Raza