HOSPITAL

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.