Staring at the ceiling
Lying on the bed
The hum of the fan
and the tormenting sound of one's own breath
listlessly lying as the endless seconds tick,
the lethargic eternity, and a seemingly stagnated run of time
the lifeless being lies still on seemingly endless life support
The hapless soul lies there still and lost
The eternal run infusion drip
The monitoring screen on the other side
At the far corner on the narrow hospital bench
Sat a figure frail, exhausted, and scared.
On the bed lies her eternal source of happiness, aspirations, and all
The doctors and ward staff come and go
donned in uniform and a drab unconcerned look
added to it a very artificial put-on smile,
On their rounds and checks on the frail figure on the bed
Readings and observations and medications too.
The figure in the corner looks up at them
with anxious eyes and endless expectations
But all that is there is a smile and a nod
and a few jargons of apothecary slang
with nothing to make no sense and nothing at all
Waiting for what no-one knows
the coffin to the final grave
or the carriage to the home
Staring at the ceiling in the hum of the fan
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