NURSE
- P C K Prem (India)
I intimately watch her
she is my nurse
smooth, loving, graceful
and sublime.
Looks after a sepulchral
body
tissues unborn,
she bears testimony to my
pains
her face becomes stiff and
rude
and at times she exhibits
anger,
I profaned her smile and
myself
in sympathy brought forth a
sarcasm
of unrequited love born
when no love sprouted.
A strange harmony in
disturbed wards
whose corridors screech to
a moving halt,
of patients, limping bodies
emaciated, pale and great
fluid thoughts,
remain unborn to write a
book on catharsis.
Air smells foul and a nurse
moves
about in blood and disease
unconcerned apparently but
compassionate
wears a mark of a will
for one can challenge it to
a duel.
And passion is individual
and private
and compassion exclusive,
frighteningly honest
unique in temperament.
Lot of destined turbulence
and pre-willed rot
walking on ramps and
electric lifts.
It discusses separations
and farewells
without eyes beholding an
experiment.
Her nimble fingers continue
to walk
on charts and bio-data
scribbled,
on pedestrian’s paths, she
strolls
with no regrets.
A constant friend in
distress made boring
by repetition and fabled
stones,
it begets life when least needed
dextrose and sodium
chloride haunt
a complete recovery in
truncated careers.
No one could declare it
useless
nobody will retell an
experience
that occurred in honeyed
whispers
in eyes open and speaking
words that would not
disturb air
and communicate no message.
An assembly without debate
and poison
escaping without a route,
probing life in latest
electronics
generations of labour bring
forth,
it knows a beginning and
not an end.
A private enterprise in
public sector
confusion erupted in sick
wards
where patient treat doctors
and play
with nurses calling sisters
a Cross blinks and forgets
the man.
It lives a lonely life,
here everything works
naughty in silence
of forced anesthesia.
What a torturing wait for
consciousness
when dreams of a glowed and
glittering,
but dulled sensibility
hope for an extra
lubrication.
A sheer lie and an end
without hope
and thus alongside the
patient bed
grows an intimacy
that shall write an
autobiography,
with smudged thoughts and
lies unknown.
An utter confusion
on hospital corridors
making futile
tries for locating
extinguishers,
to press and break them
for fire shall spread and
burn
and nobody shall live to
read
an autobiography.
****