The Interpreter's Statement

[hepo]

To the ward shuffling doctors
he was a flower, a faded and preserved image
pressed within the dry sheets of a hospital bed,
and something to ponder over,
for a moment, before moving on.

But we learned to communicate.
He could use the language of stars, city lights and owls,
a Morse code that few understood.
As to his body it was a prison,
with his mind, innocent of all crime,
its sole inmate;

I would take a notepad,
his pupils would dilate and so we'd converse,
but always the plea, the same
repetitive plea, 'Pull the plug!

So I pulled the plug.
Watched the green dot fade on the monitor's horizon,
wheeled him to the park, left him by a tree,
and the night, cold and lonely,
took him to her bosom like a long lost son.

And perhaps, officer, I may be wrong
to translate his desire,
to mirror his last definitive wish,
but society is the cruellest of jailers, and for him
there was no release, no key to let him out.