An ode to a doctor!

A sinus ridden head and ghost from the blues,

We stay all night to understand the cancerous roots.

As the computer clicks, the BP rigs;

The scared patient sees his bucket kicked.

We tear a crocin and gulp it down, to take an oath by which we are bound,

“Heal thy all by God’s grace, none shall dig his own grave.”

So a knife weld tight, we all see the fate’s hand at play!

Manav Hada

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