Editor’s note: The idea that the saint in this poem is probably not that saintly intrigued me, as did the message that people want to believe that someone they revere is good, no matter the cost. It’s a different kind of poem for EC, and I think you’ll find it thought provoking. (Kate)
Patients thronged in long queues
dreaming to defer their death
one by one they took out their shoes
and entered to buy some breath
Some trepidation,some agitation,
and the usual yells of pain
and the wishes made in devotion
maybe not to visit again
“'Why do you need a doctor
when prayers can heal every sore,”
the saint would say like an actor,
“I have with me every cure.”
“Just close your eyes,” he'd tell,
and splash some ash on the brow
or ring his old rusted bell
to draw milk from a cement cow
He had some sleight of hand
some tricks to gather belief
to make an apple from sand
or find a rose in a leaf
That was enough for the crowd
to travel miles and come
to the saint and chant aloud
his name like puppets dumb
Even when a patient died
it little affected their clan
“Our saint had truly tried,”
they said, “Twas God's plan.”
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Bio: Debasish Mishra has co-edited an international anthology of poetry entitled Timeless Love. His recent poems have been published in North Dakota Quarterly, Penumbra, Star*Line, and elsewhere. A former banker, he is currently pursuing his PhD at NISER, India.
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Image by Ramez E. Nassif.
