Tag: Poetry
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Dialysis
Saher LalaniToronto, Canada for Bapu He is eighty and on dialysis.Bound to machines andfrequents the hospital. He gasps while coughing.All I can do is give himwater and some tissue. He wipes his mouth, seatedupright, resting in a chair.Then, silence ensues. He points to the table.Remember the Eid feast? Foodie at heart,he must crave foodsnow not…
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Home is where the heart is
Asim KhanNew Brunswick, New Jersey, United States Home is where the heart is,That’s how the old saying goes,But where is home? Apparently, no one knows. Feet perched up on the desk, the intern removes from her ears her brand-new Bose,The alarm of siren, a code blue—she sprints through obstacles high and low.Panicked, upon arrival, she…
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John Keats statue
Arpan K. BanerjeeSolihull, England John Keats, born in London in 1795, is one of the finest Romantic poets of the English language. He died at the age of twenty-five in Rome, where he had gone to recover from tuberculosis. The house where he spent the last years of his life, at the base of the…
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I’m listening
Tulsi PatelChicago, Illinois, United States To the gentle whispers of the summer breeze,The carpenter ants’ chatter in the trees,A firefly’s luminous flash in the night,A saguaro’s water, still and quiet.The ocean’s froth, a fierce collision.Then, hoarse vocal cords, a trach’d admission,Eyes’ wells fill, glistening and bright,LVADs’ hum, a steady pump’s right. I listen close till…
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Aphasia
Tulsi PatelChicago, Illinois, United States Paint chips Plume of smoke Plume of feathers Peach pits Petty parrot Paris — In muddled speech dwells a world unknown,Where ordered words once danced, now overthrown.Broca’s realm, a twisted maze,Where language hides in veiled haze.The mind’s expression, bound and tied,An overpass collapsed, connections dried. Thoughts in motion, stammer and…
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It’s all in a name
Rida KhanNew York, United States I struggle with the letters that make up my nameIt hesitates and falls flat on their tonguesAnd although I’ve searched for reason, there is an inexplicable shameThat I’ve unwillingly carried since I was young Until one day, in a hospital bed ten paces from the nurse’s stationA tired man of…
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A doctor writes to God
Nolo SegundoUnited States My friend, a retired surgeon,tells me he would like to believein an almighty and loving God,but claims science, annoyingly,keeps getting in the way—soI ask why, why is that? After all, one is of this world,the world of physics, of math,the world of flesh and blood,the world of nature, full ofcontradictions, unpredictable,noble, beautiful…
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Miguel Hernández
Nicolas Roberto RoblesBadajoz, Spain Miguel Hernández was born on October 30, 1910, in Orihuela (Alicante, Spain). His father, Miguel Hernández Sánchez, was a cattle dealer, and his mother, Concepción Gilabert Giner, did the housework and took care of their four children. Miguel had very few years of schooling. At the age of four, he attended…
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The two ends of the stethoscope
Jill KarNew Delhi, India Author’s note The theme of this poem is the decline of doctor-patient relationship in the modern medical setting. Through the expression of unsaid feelings, this poem outlines the thoughts of a patient (stanza 1) and a doctor (stanza 2) in the setting of a health consultation on a busy outpatient day…