HOSPITAL
Life begins
and ends here.
I sit and
watch,
As the cycle
of life moves all around me.
People are
born.
They grow.
And they
come here when diseased.
I move, and
wait
And sometimes
give medicines.
They see me and
smile,
Hoping I will bring
Some good news
for their suffering relatives
At times I do
have good news.
Then they heal
and leave.
Sometimes to
heal,
I have to wield
a knife.
Cut the diseased
part,
Scoop out the pus and pour in the medicine.
At times I witness
the hands of time,
Winding up
the final few moments of someone’s life.
I can’t do
anything but stand by and pray.
Sometimes
the sheer aspect of suffering is overwhelming.
A frail old woman
Living alone
and helpless,
Comes to me,
Brutally assaulted
by her greedy neighbors
who leave
her to die.
All for a piece
of gold.
A young lass
of fifteen,
who lost
consciousness, while bathing,
due to
poisonous gases emanating from her gas geyser.
She lay comatose
on the floor,
Her skin
being scalded
by the overflowing
hot water.
She is still
sleeping, her limbs are stiff like wood.
I go in to
her room with my senior.
We check her
eyes, arms, and legs.
We pinch to see
if she can wince or move or cry.
In days she
does.
Her mother
has watery eyes.
“How is my
baby, doctor?
When will
she talk?
When is she
going to get up?”
The doctor
looks out of the window.
“She has a
long way to go.”
He touches
the corner of his eyes
and sniffs.
Is he a
stone?
You may ask.
He is not, my friend.
He has a heart.
But if he
cries,
He will not
be able to work.
He still has
to bring a smile to your lips
—his next
patient.
