Pravin Gandhi

Hay andhera ghanaa chhaa rahaa
Tera insaan gabhra rahaa
Ho rehaa be-khabar
Kuchh na aata nazar
Uska suraj dooba jaa rahaa**

*
"Hey! Wait a minute,
You can't take me
into the Critical Care Unit.
You told me it was routine,
Now this is not fair…"

"But I have still to do this and that;
I have yet to tell my wife and kids
What's what".

Lying,
Alone, In the CCU,
Fitted with tubes and apparatus
Attended by urgent doctors and staff
He yearns to clasp his wife,
His sons to embrace,
His parent's hands to hold -
As he did as a child when scared.

"Oh, God! What now?',
He panics, he wails; at last,
Realising, this is it.
"Look here, son."
And as he listens to the Omniscience
The pain vanishes from his punctured body,
He can't hear his name being called;
He doesn't know that the indicators on the instruments
Have suddenly provoked the attendant staff
In a flutter of activity
To make more vigorous jabs on his body,
To drive anxious relatives to incessant chanting.
Finally, the Voice calls
"Shall we go, son?"

By Pravin Gandhi
It was 12.35 a.m. on 24th February 1995 on Earth.