Hospital Of Sins

One day my karma felt sick.

Little grumbling stomach,

Out of abuse.

Bit of nausea,

Out of rejection.

Even though we knew the reason,

We chose a hospital,

To make us win this battle.

The hospital was,

Known for treating ailments,

Of superstitions,

And their amendments. 

It was named as,

"The Sin Clinic".

And the treatment was off,

Sinners and cynics.

Doctors here,

Are worth the praise.

Since they have uniformity,

In their dress.

Clad in orange,

They claim to treat,

Sinful substance. 

Talking of ailments,

There are just two treatments.

One for high-class sins,

Another for low-class sins. 

Poverty and inequality,

Caused low class to grieve,

To commit sins,

Which could not be sieved. 

Flamboyance and annoyance,

Were on a high-class part,

Their sins were higher,

With sass and class. 

The process of treatment,

Begins from,

Ringing the bell frequently.

To heal here,

Is to bow and sing,

In front of master doctor's string.

If the sin was serious,

The further process was tedious.

Included green paper's radius.

One needed to burn them down,

To come out,

And do the countdown.

Where the disease was,

Nothing but,

Sin's playground. 

You play, pay and revive,

Get salvation and survive.

So if you have,

Any score to settle,

You can go to this battleground,

Known as a temple.

Or if you detest it utmost,

These clinics are also known,

As mosque. 

Many other brands,

In different hues,

You just name it,

And your sin will be out of view.