In Between Rhymes!



I thought I was suffering the most

until I saw a five-year-old kid.

Happily dancing and singing rhymes,

without knowing she had come to the hospital,

without knowing it was for her check-up,

without knowing that needles would soon

pierce that soft, pampered skin.

She was all happy

until she understood this.

For a moment, she got scared.

She held her mom’s hand tightly and asked,

“Mom, won’t it be painful?”

Her mom said,

“No, papa. Amma will be with you.

Saying siva siva siva every minute."

With fear in her eyes, the child still smiled.

She asked again,

“Shall I move my body, ma?”

Her mom replied,

“No papa, you’re not supposed to move for 30 minutes.”

She said okay…

and then asked, with pure innocence,

“Shall I move my head alone, ma?”

Her mom struggled to explain further

and finally said,

“If you move, all the money we have paid will go  waste.

They won’t refund it, papa.”

That little one,

who understood rhymes—

understood this too.

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