By Parizad Gaur
The smell of a hospital is awful
Is it how it smells before death?
Or is it the smell that enters the nostrils before birth? There are two cries echoing in a hospital’s hallways, The one of grief and one of rejoice,
The one in which in which a child starts to breathe, The sound ringing in a hospital is full of cranking of medicine Strips
The one, that no one ever leaves,
The smell of a hospital is awful;
The itching stink of dried blood of a dying body,
The one where everything depends
Upon the hospital monitor,
That shows the straightened or cress cross pulse rate, The one, nobody denies to see,
But,
A hospital also smells like beginning of life,
The fresh waxy fluid of a new-born baby,
A cotton ball feathery body that is as light as a dandelion seed, A hospital is filled with doctors covered in white and blue, Fighting between what’s the lie and what’s the truth Me? I’ve never liked entering a hospital
Because it reflects the certainty and uncertainty of what may start
And what may end,
The rolling movie of life and death,
That both start on a white non- creased bed
By Parizad Gaur