At The Doctor's
P Pradip Chattopadhyay
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Weary faces bored with the long wait
Sit with stony eyes as in hypnotic state
Some way they suffer in liver or gall
Hoping help would reach when comes their call.
Each time the bell rings breaks the languor
Rustled footsteps cross the corridor
Expectant eyes find way to the door
To find what remedy is there in store.
Minutes pass and is heard before long
Inviting sound of the next bell’s gong
The ones coming out rewarded for patience
Make way for visages still grim and tense.
Bu şiiri puanla
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