Where are these young and innocent
lost perhaps
from their home towns,
Or hired
for labor, escaping from servile
authoritative
handcuffs, landed here
with
wounds or cuts or injuries,
could be
in search of jobs in this hospital
where I am
lying sick, similar to their predicament.
So much in
their faces, I can read
faces are maps , depicting sad irony,
plights
or missing their parental affection;
now they tend to care for me, spirit
of
dedication and service, unquestioned;
my nurses, these lost souls, me longing
for
change to go back to my village,
all sail
in the same boat, going back
to our villages ,our places of roots.
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