A gentle nudge,
A soothing smile from a stranger.
A wheel chair just behind him,
A pint of blood and a thick book.

The sleep you had solicited slips away,
You get up from that hospital bed.
You do it so carefully
It seems effortless.

You sit in that wheelchair,
You discover you have mastered it.
You lock yourself in it,
Put the testimonials on your lap.

The wheelchair takes you away;
You try not to think.
Two fingers on your headside,
Because Professor X does it.

To the Radiology Department.
No needles, rest assured.
You surrender the testimonials,
Then unlock yourself out.

You remove your shoes,
The instruction in Bengali prompts
Trial and improvement from you,
And eventually you hug the metal plate.

How cold!