Sunday, September 9, 2012

The accident

It was a saturday night,
He had nothing to do,
He had his keys,
Some boredom too.

He went outside in the pouring rain,
He looks at the sky,
what does he know,
He should have called his mother the day before.

He drives back,
careful all the way,
The rain's relentless,
the sky still gray.

Just around a corner,
Mistakes were made,
Tyres gave way,
Motorcycles are dangerous, or so they say.

They lie in the rain,
Their face in the mud.
You couldnt distinguish them,
Their faces were red.

Call it fortune,
call it luck,
People rushed to them,
While they lied in the muck.

He lies there,
his vision dim,
He sees a red cross,
Above the tyre rim.

But fortune ends somewhere,
And here it did,
The doctors took the other kid.

The ambulance said symbiosis,
His ID disagreed.
It was still bias,
but not on creed.

After the misfortune,
comes the blame,
blame the motorcycle,
the rain,
whatever keeps you sane.

Moralities still exist,
We'd still like to believe.
They say diamonds are the hardest,
I disagree.
Its the rules,
with its infinite rigidity.

He didnt die alone that night,
Something else died too.
A sacred oath the greeks upheld,
An oath doctors once knew.

I cant decide,
for who i weep,
The youth or the oath,
All i know is,
that we are exposed,
As hypocrites,
not Hippocrates.

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