In My Time

In my time
Blacks are more racist than whites
Even more stereotypical than them.
Women oppress men
The young victimise the elderly
The poor suppress the rich
Marginalise them with their numbers

There, there it is- numbers
Louder voices and louder cries unmissable
Before my time,
They said the stronger cried louder
But in my time,
The weak and fragile and helpless
The voiceless, they cry louder

Doctors are slain
Spoken to, with, about, with such disdain
Backlashed, suffered now and again
Where’s the platform when without an audience
Where’s the audience when deprived of a platform

They chase money, prefer working in cities and private facilities
They have no understanding of their calling
Yet they that do have refused to enter the gates of medical school
The very gates that are never locked
I speak out of pain out of anguish
Pardon me if my words offend you
But do these go places like that to play
Perhaps chaskele or golf, maybe police and thief
Ahhhhh they go to play in private hospitals

The system is left in rot
To be eaten by scavengers
The system where the health of the doctor
Is nobody’s business but himself
The system that puts doctors in Accra and Faborodebetomechalk at same level
Same salary, same opportunities
You ask for too much they say
Forgetting the four fingers that point at them in their accusation
He in the latter gets book kwashiorkor
He in the former, academic obesity
Then they crush, criticise, castrate
He in the latter for poor professional development; he’s called a leaking doctor

Life is full of choices
Only for the poor and weak and helpless
The doctor does not belong
The rich, socially recognised do not either
In my time
Life is full of choices
Only for the poor and weak and helpless.

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