A big hospital
In the morning, work has just begun.
Severely ill patients are standing in line in front of the doctors’ rooms.
The groaning makes ears ache.
Bahtiyar Hidayet, a poet from Azerbaijan, shares his poem
Bahtiyar Hidayet, born in 1974 in the Gazakh region of the Republic of Azerbaijan, graduated from university in 1995 and has been working as a history teacher since 1998. Wrote poetry since high school and has 4 poetry books published in Azerbaijan.
Old Innovations
A big hospital
In the morning, work has just begun.
Severely ill patients are standing in line in front of the doctors’ rooms.
The groaning makes ears ache.
There is not a single doctor in the rooms.
They are all in a meeting.
The new chief is proving himself.
Finally, the meeting ended.
The white coats of the doctors
Were like white shrouds.
As if the dead had risen
And returned from the graveyard.
And now they would send
New dead people to the graveyard
From this hospital where no new medicine could be found.
Meanwhile,
Those who profited were the mullahs, grave diggers, and corpse washers.
But they are very merciless creatures. Not one of them thanked the new chief.
… This is an old tradition.
Every new chief
Adds a little innovation to this tradition.
Meanwhile,
The chiefs are young chiefs.
But illness and death have become younger too.
This is the best care for young people.
Living too long means too much suffering.
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