Mapping the pandemic

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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.

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.

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.

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. . .

If death be inevitable, may it come
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.

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.

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.

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?

Rewritten by Shubha Khandekar