In great expectations,
taking medicines from
big firms and top pharma
companies that the city’s best
doctors in seconds prescribe
before even patients tell
all they think must be told,
before the doctor makes the
list of drugs they must take
if they are meant to be cured,
they come to find medicines
make no good to happen as
reputed brands are there to
stay to help pharmacies run
when doctors minting notes
only note if the patient gets
so many of their prescribed
drugs, their returns by every
shop closing hour should rise
like the Sensex rising, high tuned
to the market methods of
great demands and poor
supplies when, knocking at
the door, death disturbs all
out of sleep till drug stores
run dry and, losing patience,
patients’ attendants cry foul,
mad only to reason doctors
must write slips for tablets
and injections that are there
around, sold by most firms
and not to be returned to
doctors for newer slips for
patients who must be dead
when the medicines, finally
replaced, reach them in good
satisfaction of their kinsfolk
who think they have won
in finding their people life,
to find their death has come
for they could come back on
procuring drugs doctors
certified would work to their
sure satisfactory end.
