Cutting the Coat according to the Cloth
I dream of a nation where healthcare is fair,
Where illness brings treatment, not debt or despair.
But age and experience whisper to me,
"Resources are finite, my friend, can't you see?"
So I looked at the cloth and measured the coat,
And found many promises struggling to float.
Some wear designer healthcare stitched with gold thread,
While others sell cattle when a child has a fever in bed.
The market says softly, "Efficiency first."
The poor say, "That's fine—but please quench our thirst."
The experts hold conferences under bright light,
Discussing tomorrow, till late in the night.
Meanwhile a village PHC waits in the sun,
Short of a doctor, a nurse, or even one.
UHC stands at the doorway, patient and wise,
Still waiting for action beneath lofty skies.
The economists tell us, "Be practical, dear.
There isn't enough money for everyone here."
They're right, to a point. We must live within means.
No treasury is endless, however it seems.
But humour me briefly, and answer this plea:
What use is a coat if most shiver in misery?
The goal is not marble, nor hospitals tall,
But fewer sick people needing them at all.
A vaccine, clean water, nutrition, a test,
May quietly achieve what money does best.
So yes, cut the coat according to cloth,
That wisdom is sound—I don't quarrel with that.
But let us not spend all our time tailoring sleeves,
While forgetting to weave more fabric for those in need.
For healthcare is neither pure charity nor trade;
It is a measure of the choices a society made.
And my heart, stubborn as ever, continues to say:
"Count the cost, certainly.
But count the people first."