The car slowly rolled
Into the hospital,
A different world,
Of suffering patients,
Aching bodies,
Wheelchairs down the ailse,
With the glucose bottle,
Needles puncturing
The skin, flesh, veins,
Hurrying nurses,
Attendant boys lazing,
Doctors in surgeon's aprons,
Queues for the consultations,
Fellows accompaning
For no reason wharsoever,
Some weizing, some catching
The chest or belly,
The lab carrying out
The tests wanted, unwanted,
Everyone is in a hurry,
But some merrily chatting
On or near the bedside,
To the related, or new friends
Made in the hospital,
The place for curing
The sick is a busy place,
Sometimes, carrying away
The dead bodies,
Sometimes filled with sound
Of a incoming ambulance,
The hospital is a world
Of its own kind
Where everyone reaches
Sometime or other,
And cannot miss for a chance.
Horrible! I pray I will have no occasion to visit as a patient for treatment!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
what a well depicted poem again here Ravikiran.you never disappoint