Take Back The Stethoscope
If time could rewind,
Then I'd fail my med school exam,
So no pain of being a doctor will ever be.
You need to be one to understand.
For I'd be relieved of long hours on call,
With no sleep, no rest, not even a doze,
Yet fresh work must begin the next day,
As if my bed took all my sedatives.
Legs struck with cramps during surgeries,
Eyes drained of vigour from restrained sleep,
Yet the brain must stay most alert,
Else their wigs and suits will bleed your pockets dry.
Work is done in currencies spent in dreams,
Rewards are paid in miserable coins to bank accounts,
Teachers frown at late school fees,
Landlords wave quit notices for overdue rent.
When the body begins to complain,
And mistakes seal up excellent procedures,
In their wigs and gowns they will order,
“Cease his license; he’s not capable.”
Yet the bed sheet that wrapped many years in emptiness,
Will now be used to soak tears for the rest of the years,
And on their lips will rest the cruel words:
Good riddance to bad rubbish.
Your life is lived without fun,
Yet those in the so called noble profession lie in wait,
To milk dry twenty-five years of hard work with pain,
By then, grey hairs would have weakened the brain.
So what use are those years of heads buried in books,
When it's in dullard's pockets money is minted,
While you work as if work was yours alone,
So, time, can you go back to that med school exam, please?
Take your stethoscope, give me peace in its stead.
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