An autopsy of a dead man
Source: Harish Murali
I am so in disposition with autopsiesLacking the clinical and professional ethics;
But I know it isn't just me,
Ubiquitous poetries point out-
That puts me in ease.
The autopsy is never awry
As it sounds to the patients,
And their exhortations never stopped
From carrying out them-
From ex post publications to post mortems.
The dead man, patients and doctors
Then made a collusion,
Tired of my brutal autopsies
That produced results falsified
From the absolute truth.
Today of a jolting cognizance,
I stand vacous in silence, ironically
That I am flabbergasted
With the ex ante history
Questioning my disposition.
Scalpels scare me now,
Of the dissections I had undergone
And I capitulate being the patient
Engulfing all my omissions
And repenting the autopsies
Of all the dead people.
The autopsy of a dead man
Shall thence be my covenant,
Of not touching the retractors
Reminding us all of our autopsies,
Making us dead, alive or numb.
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