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With me, during my high-school-days, studied a little boy, 
His father was a doctor. This filled him with immense joy;
At his constant demand, once to his dad's study I went,
Seeing the skeleton, to my feelings, I gave vent; 
Inquired my friend; he said, oh, in syllables innocent,
He is, (the entire city knows), my father's first patient...!

Not less than ten you should kill to become a doctor half -
This we say colloquially; But, what's a doctor-graph?   
How many servile souls should one kill to become full-fledged? 
Shouldn't be their operation-sword and shield double-edged? 
They might cut your internals to pieces; who could ask why?
A good physician, all know, has ethics endlessly high...! 

My cousin is a renowned physician; we loved her much;
Many babies and women, they said, had felt her soft touch; 
I do not know still, why she not treated my sister well,
Her kidneys she did operate; why did things go to hell?
She had no reason for us, when she clipped them together,
One is dead-shrunk now; when will the time come for the other...?

They operate eyes instead-of nose; hand instead-of legs;
Visitor instead-of patient; just anesthetic-pegs; 
What if they dare to leave their operation-knife within?
They have other knives; they'll operate; expose their win;
Human body is not more than matters within a sack,
Cut; stitch; if seen weak, dump like train-coaches gone out of track...!

Doctor Harold Frederick's actions, hence, do not scare me,
Psychopath might be! Lacking perhaps, some essential glee; 
Realization of sins? Feeling of shame? Gloom-future? 
His life seems to me just like his unconnected suture;  
In a world, where killing thousands, many blissfully thrive, 
(I am not justifying his acts) He could not survive...!



30 August 2022
Dr Harold shipman Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Joe Maverick
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