When I was a little boy
My family owned a big bookstore
In it we had lots of books
For all generations and age groups.
Some took us far away
Others through mind's passageway
Books that told a silly story
And those that taught us history.
There were picture books and magazines
Almanacs, newspapers and quarterlies

The bookstore, a first of its kind
A big surprise for people to have at hand
Skepticism abounded, and many asked
"People are illiterate, why a bookstore?"
"People are illiterate, so a bookstore!"
Was the answer with a smile.

At the start, they just passed us by
Stretching their necks as they looked inside
Then stopped and looked, curiously attracted.
Finally, took a step inside, wide-eyed and fascinated
Walking around the many isles
Wondering eyes and questioning minds
"You can read them, if you like."
"I don't know how." They said back.
"It's OK, hold it in your hand
And with you, the book will have a chat."

In their hands they held a book,
Felt its weight, sense and power too.
Cautiously they looked inside,
Saw the words along each other's side
So clean and orderly they were
Page after page, book after book, shelf after shelf.
With a sigh, they began to leave.
"I wish I could read," said one with grief.
"Oh, but you can, do not fret."
"There are only 26 letters in the alphabet."
"All these books are made of those letters. You can bet!"

So it was that people came. Young and old, ladies and men.
Teachers came and made connections.
Classes started, students trained. Reading became a trend and then.
No one passed the store again.
The bookstore developed into a home
For seekers of knowledge and wisdom.
Much developed in that store
As was seen in their happy stare,
All because they were shown the way
And kept their uncertainty at bay.

In medicine, too, one can find solace, reward and happiness when treating patients as an individual, not a malady. And for their sake, not their money. Hence, gain satisfaction of being a true physician and a healer.

Reza Ghadimi

The sun this morning was late, waking me
My late start welcomed to a wonderland.
Though it is spring, this late winter storm  
Blessed us with moisture
In this desert and dry land.  

When the earth is parched and sun brutal
Life hardens man, plants and beast.
So, the snow on the canyon walls
Trees and cactus was lovingly met.
For, learned we have, to savor the little
Wetness in the vaults of our body, well.  

To drain from the passing mist
The mountains reached
Into the heavens and pulled down the clouds
Into the crevasses of canyons and valleys.
A thick fog rolled through the dell and
Up the walls. Trying to escape.  

The fingers of all thirsty life, though
Reach deep into the heart of the mist
Ensnaring the elusive moisture and drinking
Its life-giving gift to heart's content.  

There is much hunger and thirst
The world over, and man and beast
Strive for a drop more and a few crumbs
To live just another day.
To deny them their need thus
Is blasphemous.

Reza Ghadimi
April 2024