“Dancing doesn’t suit the dignity of a doctor,” my mother said to me at my brother’s marriage.
“Operation can’t be forced by a dancer’s hand,” I replied to myself.
She realised her contrite,
When her feet danced in sight,
To the heart beats of her patient’s despite,
Some dreams are just for the night,
Some passions are just for the sight,
Some ambitions are always in plight,
Some decisions are never right,
Some futures never end bright.