In the quiet of the night, dreams take flight,
A poor boy with pleasing pain, dreams alight,
Through the darkness, he sees a ray,
A doctor’s coat, a dream to sway.

In the alley’s chill, he reads with fervor,
Pages worn, dreams he won’t defer.
A stethoscope, a symbol of hope,
In his hands, a way to cope.

But life, relentless, with a cruel hand,
Tries to bury his dreams in the sand.
A mother’s tears, a father’s toil,
Yet, his dreams he won’t let spoil.

Through the bitter cold and the scorching sun,
His resolve, like steel, is never undone.
In the echoes of poverty, his dreams resound,
A poor boy’s dream, forever unbound.

With each setback, his spirit tested,
Yet, his dream, never arrested.
In the corridors of his mind, a vision clear,
To heal the world, to calm the fear.

But fate, unforgiving, with a vicious blow,
Snatched his dreams, laid them low.
In the silence of the night, a heart does weep,
For a poor boy’s dream, buried deep.

The world may forget his silent screams,
But in our hearts, a poor boy’s dream gleams.
Though he never wore the coat of white,
In our memories, his dreams take flight.

Dr. Bhanja Kishor Rana @ India
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