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Busy streets of cities, numbed in
Deadly silence
No ruction, no turbulence;
As if the tireless time has stopped
All its physical engagements.
The imported monster, drinking slowly
The nectar of life, the poisonous virus
Getting stronger has transformed
The forever busy world, impotent.
The disobedient demon is invisible,
Its horrendous hide and seek game
Seems to be unsolvable, invincible.
Alas, no antivirus invented yet
In the laboratories of intelligence
That had once frozen the world,
Belittled the stage with skillful weapons
That could claim the lives of millions
At the press of an obedient button.
Look at those groups of hungry workers,
Who came from their villages
To earn a square meal for their families!
Separated for long, yearning
To be together, what would they
Know of social distancing?
The gates of cities, closed for good
Shutting their doors of livelihood.
Now they have to walk a long way
They return to their homes, empty-handed.
The civilized world is in isolation,
Wearing a mask, everyone
Is untouchable, mistrust polluting the air,
Singing in tandem a melancholic
Tune of mayhem, perhaps the exiled life
Will never find its lost kingdom again.
News of deaths screeching everywhere
As though we’re counting the scores
Of an Olympic game,
People are dropping like flies,
For the deadly virus is on the loose,
Gallivanting the globe, attacking lives
Of a pauper, a minister alike;
Science till today, doesn’t have
A vaccine, nor a clue. there is no
Ray of hope in the sky in its blue.
Sky, where once the morning sun smiled,
The evening stars twinkled,
The dew dropped to comfort the soil,
The paradise is now in peril, in turmoil.
But this too shall pass!
History will witness the deaths
Of values, the arrogance of blind success;
In time, nature will heal. The indomitable
Humankind will not accept defeat;
But alas, there will be no lessons learned,
For the same mistakes in time and space
Will it still, be condemned to repeat.
This poem is voiced for millions of people in the world, my world. That is why I asked many of my known poets to suggest newer ways of re-writing the poems. While my dear friend U Atreya Sharma, Editor-in-Chief of Muse India had suggested I change the expression 'pin-drop silence' to 'deadly silence' (as you see has been duly incorporated), I have an exceptional artist friend by the name Shubha Khandekar who has practically re-written the poem. I liked her way of writing so much that I am placing it here so readers can benefit from her exceptional way of writing. Here it is:
Mapping the Pandemic
Rambunctious
highways,
Roads, streets, by-lanes,
Numbed in widespread silence.
No ruckus, no squeak, nor wail;
Tireless Time has terminated
Its physical engagements.
Roads, streets, by-lanes,
Numbed in widespread silence.
No ruckus, no squeak, nor wail;
Tireless Time has terminated
Its physical engagements.
The overseas monster,
sipping unhurriedly
The nectar of life. The venomous virus
Grows stronger: turns the incorrigibly
Restive world inexorably impotent.
The defiant demon, invisible, invincible
Plays a ruthless hide and seek
To stay one-up, always.
The nectar of life. The venomous virus
Grows stronger: turns the incorrigibly
Restive world inexorably impotent.
The defiant demon, invisible, invincible
Plays a ruthless hide and seek
To stay one-up, always.
Labs of yore, proudly
triumphant
Having frozen the world one day
And slaughtered humanity the next,
With clever weapons, touch-n-go-buttons
Lie flaccid, prostrated, vanquished today
Devoured by their own conceit.
Having frozen the world one day
And slaughtered humanity the next,
With clever weapons, touch-n-go-buttons
Lie flaccid, prostrated, vanquished today
Devoured by their own conceit.
Miles after miles
of hungry workers,
No longer the succor of
Pregnant wives, frightened kids
Walking backward from their livelihoods
Despairing to be with their kin,
To grab at their lost roots. . .
No longer the succor of
Pregnant wives, frightened kids
Walking backward from their livelihoods
Despairing to be with their kin,
To grab at their lost roots. . .
If death be
inevitable, may it come
In the comfort of belongingness.
In the comfort of belongingness.
An alien world,
masked, quarantined
Mortified of touch, mistrustful of air,
Singing in tandem a melancholic tune
Of mayhem. Killing hopes of the exiled life
Finding its lost kingdom again.
Mortified of touch, mistrustful of air,
Singing in tandem a melancholic tune
Of mayhem. Killing hopes of the exiled life
Finding its lost kingdom again.
News of deaths
screeching from all screens
The dead are just numbers -- like the scores
Of an Olympic game. People chained
Within four walls dying while the virus goes
Gallivanting the globe: free, wild, jubilant
Egalitarian. Taking the lives of rulers
And ruled alike, sans bias leaving no clue
For hapless men of science.
The dead are just numbers -- like the scores
Of an Olympic game. People chained
Within four walls dying while the virus goes
Gallivanting the globe: free, wild, jubilant
Egalitarian. Taking the lives of rulers
And ruled alike, sans bias leaving no clue
For hapless men of science.
In the sky where
once the morning sun smiled,
The evening stars twinkled,
The dew dropped to comfort the soil --
Paradise now writhes in peril, in fear, in self-doubt.
The evening stars twinkled,
The dew dropped to comfort the soil --
Paradise now writhes in peril, in fear, in self-doubt.
But this too shall
pass!
Myriad deaths down, the anarchy will deflate
Nature, resilient and forgiving, will heal . . .
Men will survive, women bring forth, kids smile.
But will it cure humanity of its indomitable craving
For one-up-Manship?
Myriad deaths down, the anarchy will deflate
Nature, resilient and forgiving, will heal . . .
Men will survive, women bring forth, kids smile.
But will it cure humanity of its indomitable craving
For one-up-Manship?
Rewritten by Shubha Khandekar
