False Economy

False Economy"

In sterile halls where silence hums,

 A thousand footsteps softly drum,

 But overhead, the rafters weep—

 A secret burden buildings keep.

The walls, once white, now tired and grey,

 Recall a brighter, better day,

 When paint was fresh and steel was strong,

 Before neglect grew deep and long.

A leaking roof, a warped floor tile,

 A flickering light down every aisle—

 Each fault, a whisper, worn and grim,

 Of systems stretched too far, too thin.

A mother waits, her child in pain,

 While buckets catch the falling rain,

 A ward shut down—too cold to bear,

 The bed she needs just isn’t there.

And somewhere, in a queue delayed,

 A chance for healing slips away.

 A scan postponed, a stitch too late—

 A crumbling beam decides a fate.

No villain here with cloak or gun,

 Just rust, and time, and jobs undone—

 A fracture not in bone but trust,

 As care corrodes beneath the dust.

For every crack that splits a tile,

 There lies a cost behind the file:

 A life not lived as it could be—

 The price of false economy.

So raise not just the walls and beams,

 But honour patients’ rightful dreams.

 A safer place, a kinder view—

 A promise made should still ring true.

Because harm does not begin with pain—

 It starts the day we don’t maintain....