In an effort to cure the weak,
Some of the doctors are enough
In intellect, in craze, and in importance.
As destruction looms, a blast created
Me. The desert was like the hospital,
Innards complained, matters were obsolete.
The efforts collapse, when food began,
In an effective method we are doctoring.
Medicine is our knowledge, and our learning,
Opening new horizons for the poor and needy.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem