The stethoscope’s soft tap, a rhythmic sound, Can you hear me, the steth chimed.
In chambers hushed, the sound continued,where life is found.
A gentle touch, a knowing eye, beneath the white coat, where passions lie.
No digital gleam, no beeping chime, Can you hear me, the heart yelled, just human heart, in measured time.
With parchment charts and ink-stained pen, a world of care, for ailing men.
The midnight call, the urgent plea, a dash through streets, with wind and sleet.
Can you hear me, the patient wept, a life to save, a hope to mend, the healer’s art, a noble end.
No algorithms, no cold machine, just empathy and hope serene.
A whispered prayer, a silent vow, can you hear me, oh divine, to heal the body, and soothe the brow.
Though time has marched, and progress gleams, a touch of magic, still softly dreams.
In white coat’s fold, a spirit pure, the old-time doctor, forever sure.
Or is it, what if the pen belongs to the machine?
Can you hear me, the machine whispered……
by – Adwaith
