Sunday, 18 September 2011

Freedom to be a real doctor

The chill air of the room worries me ,the spotless white of my staff too
the gentle drone of the central chilling machine echoes the silence in the intensive care.
Of course we deal with death, as well as the accident of birth,but I want to be free
to take a stroll down the crowded lane and be greeted by  every single soul.

I dreamed of the apron for my father was  a local deity,not rich but wealthy
from the love he charged form his people-men,women and children.
The kitchen had no space for the fruits,the cakes,the plantains,the love
I cringe for the freedom to cross the field to call on my next "number".

We never watched a full movie at the local thatched cinema
for the darkness was broken by a beam of light that sought the hand
of the magic healer for another sick soul and off he went,kids in tow
Oh! I long for the freedom to not sleep the night ,not to watch the movie.

Here I am at the exalted portals of the curing science,the pinnacle of glory,
my friend applaud,the boss is happy  since the poor are not sick,
here the tests run longer than the hospital bill,all needed,none heeded.
I long for the freedom to cure people with advice,food and fresh air

The house is nice, the drapes are nicer, the check is good, often better,
I have newer cars,ride the flying ones in and out of city,the country.
But my kitchen has not seen a cake baked in love of the "great doc"
I need to be free to lose the money and charge some love,some tears.

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