Culture
The Healer’s Art: Science, Skill, and Care
Primum non nocere, a guiding light,
Not rigid rule, but wisdom's sight
ὀφελέειν ἢ μὴ βλάπτειν, in balance true,
Weighing risks and benefits anew.
In halls where healers ply their art,
With science, skill, and caring heart
They navigate the complex maze,
Of modern medicine's intricate ways.
Some twist this creed for selfish gain,
Exploiting fears, causing pain
But true healers, with ethics sound,
Engage with trust, solid ground.
Caduceus coiled, a symbol pure,
Of commerce now, no longer sure
Asclepius' staff, the truer sign,
Of healing's art, both old and fine.
Shared decisions, patient and physician,
Together they assess, talk with clinician
Of risks and hopes, of fears and dreams,
Charting a course through health's extremes.
In shadowed corners, whispers grow,
Of cures that science doesn't know
But evidence-based practice stands,
Against the lure of charlatan's hands.
Primum non nocere, evolving still,
Not perfection, but good faith's will
To strive for best outcomes always,
While minimising harm's dark haze.
From trials rigorous, knowledge flows,
Not from deceit or cunning shows
The path of healing, nuanced, true,
Leads through care, both old and new.
Sentinel of Spring.
Sentinel of Spring.
Cherry petals drift on Osaka's breeze,
Millie's ears perk, her nose twitches, pleased.
We wander winding paths, her paws padding soft,
As blossoms burst in clouds of pink and white aloft.
Okawa's waters whisper and wind,
Reflecting castle walls that climb and shine.
Millie's eyes, bright and wise, scan the scene,
Her tail wags time to Spring's new theme.
Sakura scents swirl, sweet and strong,
Millie sniffs, savoring each note of the song.
We climb stone steps, worn smooth by time,
Her loyal presence, a comfort sublime.
At the summit, we pause, breathless, awed,
By beauty blooming, history thawed.
Millie sits, sentinel at my side,
As cherry-tinged winds around us glide.
Down by the river, petals float,
Like tiny pink-hued fairy boats.
Millie splashes, playful and free,
Her joy infectious, pure glee.
In this foreign land, familiar love,
My canine companion, gift from above.
Together we witness Spring's grand display,
In Osaka's embrace, this perfect day.
Dances through time
Ancient rites, once revered, now reel
In playgrounds where children peal
With laughter, unaware of the seal
That time has placed on what was real.
Solemn steps of shamans past
Morph into games that last and last,
As cultural currents, swift and vast,
Erode the essence, unsurpassed.
Tribal truths, once held so dear,
Trickle down through time's frontier.
Sacred symbols disappear,
Leaving echoes faint but clear.
Profound becomes profane, we find,
As generations leave behind
The weight of wisdom, once enshrined,
Now light as air and unconfined.
From archaic altars to schoolyard scenes,
The dance of time intervenes,
Transforming what tradition means—
A metamorphosis of memes.
So sacred turns to silly play,
As yesterday fades into today.
Yet in this change, we might survey
The threads that bind us, come what may