Saturday 15 June 2019

The Doctor’s Call


I may look ordinary,
Lean, grey bearded
And balding at the temples;
I wear weather worn and loose leather chappals,
I roll up my pants on the road and
Still step in the sludge
Clumsily
And I snort and pause to examine
The splash on my suitcase;

I may board an ordinary train
Towards an ordinary town
Among a marred mix of ordinary races;
I may then be sipping tea
From an ordinary vendor,
Calling out to him
With a squeaky voice,
Exhausted after the ordinary work
Of dragging my baggage behind me;

Yet for all this ordinarily lived life of mine
There is but one little mercy –
My bygone years summed up to embrace a
Profession
Called the saviour’s acolyte;
Now I wake up to this call after every nap
Refreshed by the sole thought
That this day will be more merciful
Than the previous one.

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