PAPA

Late in night on my hospital bed
when ceiling fans were gyrating
on top of every patient's bed
and hospital wore a solitary look
barring oxygen pipes, and some
hanging red transparent bags transfusing the flow;
infusing dead silence
to all hospital murky corners
barring the medical sister's doze

I,
Very weakly
sounded my illness
from my hospital bed, knowing
he must be sleeping on the lower bed
very close by me, and
whispered into his immediate ears:
Papa!

and, next
by dint of my father's strength
I woke my illness
in sweet pain, and
lamely, hunched with sweet look
I tugged along the wash-room
on my father's shoulder

there,
it never turned my consciousness
as to who!
Flushed the urinal

I was tugging along the thoughts
by my depth of gratitude

Who could have listened
to weak single syllable
in the dead of night
...but by my Papa!!