Hospital

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