My stethoscope crawls down
Listening to the marauded heart,
That convulses with every breath
As blood rents its flesh apart.
Taut and tense it strains to hear
The mangled muscle choke,
The frantic flailing, the faltering,
When the crystal voice broke.
Clutching fast to the friable skin
My terrified stethoscope pleads –
To life deserting the wreckage
Where the perished heart bleeds.
Paralyzed, it embraces my neck,
Nestling inside my white coat,
As we nod our confirmatory defeat
And battle the lump in our throat.
(i guess pronouncing someone dead is one of the hardest things i have had to do...)
Copyright 2004 Zheala Qayyum
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