Death is on the rise,
the world, a cemetery.
Countless lives succumb
to the terror, unable to breathe,
without any hearse,
bodies burnt, buried.
The outfit has suddenly
become white, for the
dead and the alive.
Leaders cheering the
helpless healthcare workers.
Little hope to efface the virus
from the face of the earth,
the black fungus adding to
the loss of life, vaccines
generating revenue from
the locker of the hearth.
TV channels earning their TRPs,
eyeballs glued to the blue horror,
addicted to the scores of the
game, to the useless conspiracy
theories, and to many other
stories; the naysayers, writing
their lines in the debris
of hopelessness.
The imperceptible Tsunami
is on, the nature is intact,
it had taken the village
by the storm.
The new normal is
that the world is on fire,
forests are not burning.
Caregivers, nurses, doctors,
the only harbingers of hope,
the silent workers.
Innocents dying, while
disparate parts of the globe,
thinking in their boxes,
unable to counter the challenge,
they're counting the footfalls,
blaming, and counting.
Families breaking into tears,
the crematorium grounds
lost in the pyre.
How did it originate,
what is the remedy,
whose wars are we
fighting, which act of
the play's going on, no
one knows, neither the
martyrs, nor the players,
nor those selfless
heroines and heroes.
