AN HOUR AT A HOSPITAL

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i stand before a lovely lawn of a beautiful home

for an hour and embrace its early morning warmth.

patients old young rich poor make waves like the Jalangi

of my village. sky is heavy with great expectations– a child is born,

an elderly touches the sky of heaven–some berate breasts, some steely

pass carrying dying limbs, others adjust looks in rear glasses.

Paid polished men and elegant ladies wear coded uniform and like

domesticated dogs they bark and stir tails as codes dictate.

guards abuse the poor and spread red carpet for the moneyed.

the counters full of coins, even the pullers and peasants are agreeably

made to drop life’s savings for plucking alien flowers.

nobody argues, spacious a c space with h d sets, eyes glued to

India’s rising stars or roaches-eating man. complaint boxes lazily

sleep for years. for service they come and service they get.

they have not sold sense of ‘sivility’ in marketplace!

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Abu Siddik

Abu Siddik

It's all about the unsung , nameless men and women around us. I try to portray them through my tales. I praise their undying suffering and immaculate beauty. And their resilience to life's vicissitudes, oddities, and crudities I admire. They are my soulmates who inspire me to look beyond the visible, the known, the common facade of the educated and the intellectuals.

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