Doctor This, Doctor That!


28° 38' 4.308" N, 77° 9' 15.3648" E

The Allied-Eraser grew monstrous,

For stubborn stains, it had direct orders,

To tear pages off the flap,

Customized to rub Nazi land from the map,

Came along Soviet scissors,

Armed to the teeth, yawn-less with night-vision,

To snip wings of lethally toxic ambition,

Switch off German National Socialist lights, forever,

Featherless, stripped naked of power,

He scavenged the ground for scattered dreams,

Leaves from his meritorious past, devilish conquests,

Snaps of enemies in blood and screams,

It was all over, damn ‘Heil Hitler!’

The Dictator now, imitated the rag picker,

Sins wore his soul weak and weaker,

He had to depart, then and there,

Summoned him ‘Failure’,

His most competent Archfiend,

For his final lap, his walk of retribution,

The last stretch to his end…

This was the time, when unnoticed served this scarred angel,

Deep below that violent surface of this earth,

He tended thousands of injured, bleeding and the wounded,

No else, could cook some medicinal stew in there,

Until he reached them,

Limbs were sawed down, not operated,

Crying mouths with tranquilizers were stubbed, suffocated,

No one could be cured, no one could be medicated,

Amidst that mutilated, sobbing multitude,

In that make-shift hospital,

Out of an underground bunker to escape air-raids,

With unskilled aid,

Relentlessly at service, that doctor lost count of nights and days,

He drank horror, on insomniac glimpses he fed,

Images of slaughtered green heroes,

In repentance, wails of limbless carnivores,

Unstirred, unfazed, by infectious fumes of brutality,

The only one who survived those lethal gases,

Sprayed to suck out of creatures around, every trace of humanity,

Forgiven were murderers,

No confessions needed human-butchers,

Roamed around zombies, once soldiers,

Dead were their ideals,

Dead was their honor,

Gone was the Führer, their Protector,

Abandoned in Berlin, for duty Divine,

Unnerved served Werner Haase, that Nazi Doctor…

With the century ready to wake up to a new morn,

I wonder if that selfless spirit of service is still there?

Or, with that doctor decayed in Kazakov’s Butyrka*,

That spotless dedication to God’s work is gone?


This doctor from the Latino city of Curitiba,

Unscathed by human suffering and pain,

Wore Thanatos’ robe to decide ends,

Terminated the ones critically ill,

To reduce her workload against Lord’s will,

Empty captured ICU beds,

Get rid of escalating stress,

Murder, present her patients, a quiet death,

And be done with, after quickly distributing death certificates…

Though, both dealt in human life,

This doctor served to terminate,

That doctor served to preserve and recreate,

In the Gallery of Motives,

One stood statured in wax,

While, the other chose to hide…


(A reflection on two doctors – Dr. Werner Haase and Dr Virginia Soares de Souza, influenced by the 2004 German film, Der Untergang (Downfall), world history, and the latest global headlines.

Dr. Haase fought death, served to heal like only a few could, when Russians were taking over Berlin in 1945, while Dr. Soares had the audacity to grant death to her patients, only to reduce the mounting pressure in the ICU of Curitiba’s Evangelical Hospital, Brazil.

*Butyrka Prison, Moscow (Matvey Kazakov, its architect) is the place where Dr. Hasse died in the year 1950, serving his term as a POW.

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