the patient

You lie like a log on the modern bed,
Eyes closed, mind locked in a deadly dream,
The efficient ventilator gives you breaths, not life,
The monitor beeps are a muted scream.

My brain is become fuzzy with sleep,
My mind is numbed by many a care,
My soul is still haggling for its price,
I sign a few reports unaware.

The sister wakes me from a shattered dream,
Your pulse is feeble, BP is low,
I make a few adjustments to your drips,
The pupils dilate, the reaction is slow.

We thump your chest, load you with drugs,
I’ll fill the forms, I tell your son,
Just a few formalities left you know,
Death after all is just another one

I have always been a great believer. I've flitted from one belief to another, from religion to atheism and from one philosophy to another, until I finally settled on J. Krishnamurti whose philosophy is that there is no philosophy. So now I firmly believe that there is nothing to believe. Now such a belief would, I believe, have been considered dangerous to society if the authorities had believed me to be of any consequence. No man of consequence they believe would waste his time on the pursuit of blogging!

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8 comments on “the patient
  1. ~uh~™ says:

    O man, you are deep and dark. It must be depressing for you at times….

  2. whatsinaname says:

    Read a similar post by Rofl in another site.
    No wonder yours is the most noblest of all professions. To stare at death and see it taking a victim away is no mean feat.

  3. Raksha says:

    Now that’s what I call ‘Death subtly expressed!’…I admire the doctors for their audacity and the way they handle deaths! Hats off to all the doctors!

    • Every time someone dies in a hospital, its a failure for medical science. Unfortunately, in the daily grind of the professional routine, most doctors (myself included) become inured to death and it ceases to be a personal battle for them. That’s how death becomes a formality.

  4. Terri says:

    It must be sad to have it all become so routine.

  5. Rujuta says:

    Dark and beautiful! But then poetry that doesn’t hold a mirror to life is hardly poetry…

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