The girl in a stained apron

biraj

Finally, after hours and end

Through toil and turmoil and panic and scare

A battle of will with hope and prayer

The body let go, the heart descended

The soul was free, the spirit transcended

 

The crusade was lost, the patient had died

It was then, that grief magnified

She lay there still, with wondering thought

With watery eyes and sheer distraught

 

And although she was taught

To destroy emotion, dehumanize

Anesthetize, etherize

Under no circumstances, to empathize

To not believe

In spirits and souls

In the after-life, gods and ghouls

Heaven and hell and that abstract lot

Bottom line, she was taught

To always be

A human bot

 

But she could not

While trying to stop the oozes from her eyes

Which just would not

Stop streaming, as she let out silent cries

 

And she had too big a heart

To move on, to let go

Of what used to breathe just a moment ago

 

And poor she, she hadn’t even time for recuperation

As she had to rush over, for a pending operation

In an attempt to save yet another

From the final fate of that eerie, cold smother

 

 And as she finally gets a chance to rest

From the horrid, evil life-and-death fest

She slowly drifts away in never-never land

But alert, with a stethoscope in her hand

Ready to wake up, and attempt another save

And postpone a being, into its own grave

I look at her silently, not to wake her up

And I see her eyes persistently flickering

As if she’s still insistently hindering

The eventuality of expiration dates

 

I wonder sometimes, if she has come to know

Her colossal strength, her inner afterglow

And if somebody somehow, came and told me

That she was an angel, I’d agree

Because I believe that angels, come in all shapes and sizes

And it’s not too often that one realizes

The worth of others, and the value they possess

And their strange ability to unknowingly impress

 

So just as she was fast asleep

That device she had, gave a shrill beep

And as if she was expecting it

She got all set, in a heart-beat

 

I look at her as

She rushes down the corridor

Off to fight, another war

Her stained white apron, fluttering away

Like a caped superhero, to save the day

A caped superhero, with intention sublime

Saving the world, one life at a time

  • Author: biraj (Pseudonym) (Offline Offline)
  • Published: March 25th, 2016 06:05
  • Category: Love
  • Views: 138
  • Users favorite of this poem: Thehara
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Comments +

Comments1

  • BRIAN & ANGELA

    Thanks for sharing BIRAJ. All professions take their psychological tool on us but none more so than being a Medic. ! They are trained to save life and all too often see their patients succumb to death. I'm a Teacher and I hate it when my students fail - I fail with them, My Sister is an Ophthalmic Sister and she restores vision to the partially sighted. Occasionally the partially sighted end up totally blind and it drains some of her optimism and altruism. We can only save the World "one at a time" and even at that rate we don't always succeed ! Thanks BRIAN.

    • biraj

      I'm really glad that you took some time to read this poem Brian. Even though I am not in the medical profession, i hear a lot of stories about doctors and the emotional distresses they have to go through day by day, and I felt like acknowledging what they do through this poem.



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