I look at you in helpless silence, incapable of doing a thing for you. In the middle of the white-washed walls of the hospital ward you lie, groaning quietly in the dark abyss of pain. Only a miracle can bring you some relief. I have nothing to offer, but a prayer. All my prayers reach the Almighty, an attempt I shall make. I am trying to find ways to shake off His unbearable silence. Desolation and numbness in your eyes drive me crazy and as
I leave the ward quietly, I hear the footsteps of death. I want to cut off my ears to block their sound. But will that delay the advent of death? From your voicelessness before death, I move towards your silence after death—and I do not even want to feel angry or shed tears at my helplessness.