No applause follows the midnight shift,
No spotlight finds the lab at dawn.
Only tubes of blood and blinking screens
Carry the weight of lives unknown.
Hands steady, eyes half tired,
Reading truth in numbers small,
A rise, a fall, a decimal—
Enough to save or lose it all.
While the world sleeps behind closed doors,
We listen to machines breathe low,
For every report, we sign our name
To fate we hope will gently go.
They may never know our faces,
Or thank the hands that stayed awake,
But somewhere a heart beats stronger now
Because we refused to make a single mistake.

.    .    .