Lying in bed,
Propped up, a pillow under my head,
Arm outstretched,
In my vein, an IV line etched
I wait,
Chasing the drops of saline,
Falling at the rate of sixteen.
I wait,
For the visit of the nurse,
It all seems a dream perverse.
I wait.
Just a few mornings ago,
In fact not a long time before,
I was draped in PPE, on this floor
Blue gown swishing to and fro,
I cared for patients,
Lying in bed, shivering,
Trying to end their feverish suffering,
I waited,
For reports, for the easing of their coughing,
I had waited,
For the unsure cure,
Now I wait,
In a room sterile and white,
Swallowing my fright
I wait
For my reports ,for my drugs,
I wait
For the unsure cure.
Jump
Beckoned by the abyss,
I stood at its edge,
Building up my courage,
I jumped into that
Frigid pool.
I let the black waves swirl ,
Around me, thrash and toss me,
Immersed in the dark,
I paused,
I floated.
Slowly,
I felt the waters part,
And entomb me,
Held by them in an embrace,
Tight and warm
I found myself letting go,
Deeper and deeper
I sank gladly
Into that bottomless chasm.
And there I found,
Light beckoning me
With her inviting arms,
To end my fall.
Sumedha Trivedi is a resident doctor at a hospital in Mumbai.
Featured image credit: engin akyurt/Unsplash