Bruised hospital walls.

The once painted walls of the hospital are now enveloped in grimy stains and white flakes.

Numerous charcoal scratches from the multitude of stretchers that have grazed them.

These black stains you associate with fear and sickness.

The stagnant air around you toxic like the ashen fumes of a truck.

So you sit holding your breath, as the loud hacking coughs resonate in your ear, hoping not to catch a whiff of the contaminated air.

 

But to me these are the mighty walls which have held in numerous cries of pain.

The walls within which millions of sick have been cured since time immemorial.

The scars are ones of resilience for all those who survived and those who couldn’t.

Through these corridors walk angels in white and in blue who save lives.

In these rooms is where I learn the art of medicine.

 

So walk through these hallways not with impatience.

Crammed with wheelchairs, strained relatives, worried parents and some alone.

Everyone has a destination.

You are not in peril here, within these four walls you are safe.

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