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Room 209

- “A man has died.

Room 209”

- “A busy night.

I’ll be right up.”


Another task for me to do

to check for sure

that death is true.


I rush upstairs lost in my thoughts

of dreams and hopes

and long term goals.


I enter room 209 in rush,

another call has reached my phone.

Room 108 has a complaint

that cannot wait.

- “I’ll be right down, 5 minutes’ time.

I’m almost done with 209.”


I take my pen and my checklist.

The time of death was ten o’ six.

I’ll write the note

and do the clicks,

but first…

I have to check if he has lost his blink.


His skin is pale with yellow tinge.

He is so still…

He was so ill…


And from the pocket of my starched white coat

I take this tool, a stethoscope.

I put it on, so I can hear

the lack of sound and of heart beat.


I follow closely the checklist:

No breathing sounds

No pulse

No blinks


- “This man has died.

At ten o’ six.”

I sign my note and turn to leave.

But then…

I hear!

…a faint heartbeat

right by the side,

holding the hand of 209.


Her eyes are wet, her gaze is set

on this man’s hand that once has held

her beating heart

since the first day that they have met.


That hand that now is pale and still

has held her close to his warm chest

so she could fall asleep and rest

in his embrace

under his watchful loving gaze.


His eyes,

that now are closed and cannot blink

watched over her

and all their kids.


His heart,

that now is still

once synchronized with her heartbeat

and sang a song with notes so sweet.

His spark is gone

and with it,

so is her light.


I glance behind

and comprehend

her life’s love story has reached an end.

At ten o’ six, room 209.

with a short note I had to sign.




Black Ink Drops
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