All the Fevers I Have Known

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Morning Chill
Before the birds could stretch and sing,
A subtle warmth began to cling.
My body wrapped in cotton haze,
The world a blur, a smoky daze.

Day One: Whisper Cold
It starts so soft, a tiny flame,
Behind my eyes, it has no name.
A runny nose, a throat that stings —
It’s just a cold — but oh, I lie.

Day Two: Viral Waltz (Seasonal Flu)
It waltzed in with a wicked grace,
Behind my eyes, it found its place.
Aches in joints, a weary moan,
The flu had made my flesh its throne.
No taste, no smell, just sweat and groans,
My cough now speaks in baritone.

Day Three: Swine Flu
It oinks its way through human veins,
With coughing fits and lung-bound chains.
This viral pig once flew so far,
And left the world with lasting scar.

Day Four: Bird Flu
A feathered ghost from poultry farms,
It flies in fear, not feathered charms.
Avian flu, with sharpest edge,
Spreads silence near the chicken's ledge.

Day Five: Monkeypox
It knocks with rash and swollen tide,
And brings old fears we thought had died.
No monkey now, but still it comes,
With viral drums and beating drums.

Day Six: Tomato Flu 
Strange and red, with blisters spread,
On hands and feet, and sleepy head.
A fruitless name, a child’s dismay,
Tomato flu came out to play.

Day Seven: Dengue's Dance
Mosquito-bitten memories wake,
My bones begin to snap and shake.
The fever's high, but platelets low,
A dengue day — the virus show.
Behind the rash, the body screams,
And haunts me still in fractured dreams.


Day Eight:Malaria's March
 I shake, I burn, I freeze, I sweat,
My pillow soaked, my bedsheets wet.
Each hour a war of heat and frost,
A rhythm where all time gets lost.
Plasmodium rides through blood’s red stream,
A soldier in a fevered dream.

Day Nine: Typhoid trail
A silent guest with slow decay,
It steals my strength in shades of gray.
A bitter tongue, a boiling brain,
Each sip of water tastes like pain.
The typhoid trail is long and wide,
With weariness I cannot hide.
Each spoon of rice, each drop I sip,
Feels like a trap with poison’s grip.
Typhoid creeps through food and drink,
And pulls me to the fever brink.

Day Ten: COVID Cloud
A breath, a gasp, the silence loud,
The world now walks beneath a cloud.
Loss of scent and distance wide,
With masked-up hearts we step aside.
A fever, cough, and then the test —
“Two lines,” it says. “Now go and rest.”

Day Eleven: Hay Fever
Achoo! Not hot, but oh so cursed,
My eyes and nose about to burst.
The pollen floats like tiny spies,
Invading lungs and watering eyes.
Not quite a fever, but feels like one,
A sneeze-storm underneath the sun.

Day Twelve: Love fever -Nurse’s fever 
Then came her touch — not to inject,
But smile, and check if I reflect.
She leaned in close, her voice so near,
“Your fever’s gone?” — I wished it dear.
For now I burn a different way,
In Nurse’s light, I wish to stay.
Her kindness warm, her eyes sincere,
A fever I will hold most dear.

Fevers many, I have known,
From bugs to beasts, and seeds we've sown.
But none so fierce, and none so sweet,
As the fever sparked when our eyes did meet.
Is Nurse’s fever — heart’s memoir.




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