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By Solomon C Jatta
They build death traps
And call them hospitals
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Hospitals! Unfit for the masses
Barren of facilities,
grieving for medicine
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and equipment
Doctors qualified yet
lack the needed tools
Hospitals swarmed by the masses with hope for cure
But leave with only paracetamol
and prescription paper,
Penniless yet the rest to buy from a pharmacy
No safe births except mothers to give birth by dying,
While the elite in hospitals abroad seek healing
Our hospitals are left bare of anything appealing
While our morgues fill up with numbers chilling
Ambulances dead and
begging for resurrection
But left to watch the passing
Of another soul it
could have saved