WE ALL groan for the loss of faith and youth.
The street lights
Along the parched road littered with
unswept dirt and dust
walks a herd of migrant workers;
women carrying babies in the makeshift saree cradle.
miles and miles
dreaming the uneaten food.
The exhausted stars
slumber leaving them sleepless.
Life is stilled still.
Deceptive masses and elites
clapped their hands and lit the lamps
to drive away smokes of grief
and empathy too.
Some protest against burying the dead
as if their stay is eternal.
Some others bustle around happily
posting pictures of
scrambled eggs and
their discolored remorseful
substituting the apparently absent
symphony of love.
Socially distanced lovers
inhale the essence of solitude
long for secret kisses and sneaky hugs.
Poor mortals crying like hungry cats and rats
explore the cavities of existence.
No more dominant pizzas.
only the marginalised jackfruit.
Sweat beads the faces of husbands
turned first time cooks.
Moonlight rooftop dinners
webinar rehearsals as sidedish.
My tranquil abode lies disturbed
due to my constant presence.
Corona is a train wreck