Operation

October 8, 2010 at 11:10

Close your eyes, relax, forget;
the hand is cold, the hand of death –
the pulse it fades, the music stops to rest ...
you feel it now – damnation at its best.

Injected for the purpose of relief,
infliction of the pain you felt the least;
and down the hall the swinging doors have closed –
your bleeding heart to feast on, lies exposed.

The lights, the sordid colour of the walls;
in blues and greens, as silently the red falls
to cover the stain you left upon your life –
brought forth by careful placement of the knife.

Fight hard the losing battle for the sake
of life – that soon you may consciously awake ...
your story has been written before your time,
the music stopped, but the words in line.

--

She weeps on the side not knowing why,
she longs for the reason, “why did you make me cry?”
he can hear her, but he cannot explain;
so he peers through the dark, as she steers through the pain.

“End it now, make it stop, take it all;
it must go, take my hand, let me fall;
for the sin of this life is my own ...
what we started let me finish alone.”

From pillar to post he did run,
begging, pleading, not praying to the one;
knowing too well that his tongue had been cut,
and the doors in the sky had been shut.

Close your eyes, in the darkness reflect,
as you cling to the fingers of death –
what was given to you, you did sell,
now your life has no story to tell ...


I was having a conversation with a girl who is a doctor - a surgeon to be precise, and the nature of the work she does intrigued me. I remember reading this story of a car mechanic who compared himself to a surgeon saying that their jobs are similar, except that he works with the internal workings of a car like the engine which is the heart - yet the doctor gets all the accolades. The doctor replied, "try working on your car's engine while it's running" ... 

I've never had an operation till today. In fact I've never been in a hospital for more than a ligament tear and a soft cast - so I don't know what it's like to be on an operating table in an OT. I've visited people - my dad included, and I can only imagine what may be going through one's head. 'Am I going to make it?', 'Is this the way it's going to end for me?', 'Have I done all I wanted to do? Met all who I wanted to meet? Said all that I wanted to say?' - I can only imagine ... 

The girl who is a surgeon, the girl I had this conversation with, sees this everyday ... This one is for her.

Go Back

Yup...life is very ephemeral... Its tough...I have battled between life and death...trust me..its terrible, at the same time truely liberating as nothing matters after of course that is if u have managed to survive ;). Great poetry...hats off!!!!!!!!!



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