The First Prescription of the Bengali New Year

 

In the first prescription of the new year, I wrote my love for the patient,
Let every page of the medicine sheet carry the silent language of my feelings.
To wipe the sweat from a patient’s forehead, I long with a touch of tenderness,
More than treatment, I offer love to those in helplessness.

When spring light falls on the hospital walls,
I search for the patient’s smile of recovery in every hallway it recalls.
Seeing fatigue in a patient’s eyes stirs my heart with pain,
Behind the mask of a doctor, a silent lover serves again and again.

A patient’s suffering is not just clinical—I feel it too,
In every paracetamol, I mix a tender warmth that’s true.
You're not just a patient in my chamber—you are my prayer,
With new year’s blessings, I wish you healing beyond compare.

May your hands not tremble from the fear of injections,
Let love awaken too, along with the cure's reflections.
Medicine is not merely my profession—it’s a promise of care,
Every pain of a patient sings a wave in my heart’s lair.

Let each day of 1432 be filled with silent healing grace,
Where beyond doctor and patient, trust finds its place.
I want to read the unspoken pain etched in a patient’s eye,
Let this be the year where healing begins with a silent sigh.