The Doctor And The Old Man Poem by Anees Rahman

From doctor-trade he takes a leave,
From tiresome work and sleepless nights,
For faking life, the mighty heave,
By wearing cap and creepy tights.

He boards the train in second class,
And stands beside the open door,
But pushed along with flowing mass,
By fighting people on the floor.

The mighty winds through window space,
With fearsome smoke from searing train,
Sprays dust upon his weary face,
And burned his brain, and cloth, sweat-stain.

The boy in arms of sleeping mom,
Then touched his shirt while clapping hands,
But in disgust he place his palm,
Upon his head in unknown lands.

The man with smile, he asked to sit,
And offered drinks to get his trust.
He stood because he thought unfit,
Afraid of men, the gay and lust.

Not knowing truth and world around,
In stop ahead he thought to end,
The long and weary tour he found,
While failing thoughtful task to blend.

He leaned on him to see outside,
Rushing towards the crowded door,
By holding strength with fright inside,
The old man wakes and starts to roar,


'Hey you ugly little creep,
Move away from me, afar,
Are you thinking, I am week,
Then throw away your thoughts, creep.

Faces ugly, little hair,
All you people are alike,
I have a son of your age,
How you push and how you dare?

Do you know he works and earn,
More than you can earn in life,
And he lives a life, far good,
When you see him, you will learn.

That old lady is to blame,
He being now more like her,
That old ugly wife of mine,
And he is now all the same.

She won't cook nor share the work,
All my life I gave them food,
Paying bills while taking blame,
Though I was only a clerk.

And along with her, he lives,
Far away from me, my son,
You all people are alike,
You all should be killed with knives.'


The doctor, saying sorry, goes,
From faking life, the scary train,
The old-man shouting, scaring, goes,
From weird to mad to rabid brain.

©Anees Rahman