Piles of books with pages unturned
Heaps of cloths so shabby and frayed
With a stony back and boring air
I started my day , lazy and unfair
The cool breeze caressing my hair
I raced to the ward so late in despair
The shining sun and the singing bird
Tried to remind me there’s hope and reward
Which I purposely and half heartedly ignored
As the only thing that troubled my head
Were the miserables in my ward
And reports I had to prepare for those patients uncured
The first bed was a child in her charm and joy
Whose smile, angels would envy and damsels would shy
But my eyes would only see her veins
For I had to send her blood in bottles, so mean
The outpatients were a sea of people in pain
But all I saw was chaos and complain
The grandma with hair as white as a fairy,
face as innocent that melt hardest quarry
The grandpa who’s face a board of crisscross,
who’s complacent look no human could overpass
But nothing could crack my hardened soul,
not raising my eyes I disposed them all
When the circle high parted the sky
I reached my room with heavy eyes
Hoping the next be a better day
I laid in my bed tired and taken away .
By
The eldest son
No comments:
Post a Comment