- © 2006 CMA Media Inc. or its licensors
She huddles by the roadside
Scared of the sleek, passing limousines
Her clothes have seen better days
The child on her hips, clothed in rags
The child howls, her brow clouded with sweat
The mother tries to comfort, offers a chunk of jaggery
The child is feverish, her breathing rapid and shallow
Clinics and hospitals with their imposing glass facades line the street
The best modern medicine has to offer beneath their roofs
The mother, poor, by the door; money is a cruel gatekeeper
Tools for eternal youth and beauty, everlasting health
The wretched mother too poor to afford even a bottle of paracetamol
She gently rocks the child, sings a lilting lullaby
The child slowly sobs herself to sleep
Will she wake up to see another day?
P. Ravi Shankar, MD Pokhara, Nepal