Teesta Review: A Journal of Poetry, Volume 3, Number 1. May 2020. ISSN: 2581-7094
Annus
Horribilis
Where
have all the fighter planes gone
Where
are the bazookas and drones
Those
intercontinental ballistic missiles
The
grenade launchers and Magnum guns
Where
are the shells that split open
The hearts and heads of the targets
Where
are the sniper rifles and F15E Strike Eagles
Where
lurks the remote controlled devils of death
The
world’s armoury of humankind killers
Now
rusts and gathers dust
An
invisible invincible micro virus
Now holds us hostage, with its incredible
might
This
infiltrator is not an extra-terrestrial monster
It
is neither a suicide bomber nor a hired terrorist
Glowing
in a lethal corona halo
It
is a hide and spring champion
A
novel malignant menacing micro virus:
Can
we forgive it for it does not know
What
it is doing?
Our
post-truth world where fake news rules
Where
pricks of conscience seem like
Absurd romantic rash and mushy sentiment
Our
world of credit cards and debit cards
“I
shop therefore I am” our global mantra
Endlessly
chanted in Instagram and vidoes
Selfies, texts, posts and deafening tweets
Baffled,
the philosophic coronavirus reflects
“So
they need to die to wake up!”
Healing
O
Doctor
We
are not well, not well
We
are not well at all
O
Doctor
Do
prescribe a bird song
A
rainbow in the twilight
Caressing gentle rain
A
playful cool breeze
A
blue night sky with shooting stars
Sunrays
radiating the pensive room
A
drop of glistening dew in a flower cup
A
leaping unruly mountain stream
Diving
into the green earth’s embrace
We
are not well, not well
We
are not well at all
Helplessness
torments
Sleepless
nights are haunted
We
hear the cries of hunger
We
hear the tired march of migrant feet
We hear the breathless gasps
As
life shudders and falls asleep forever
O
Doctor
Do
prescribe
A
healing touch
A
healing word
A
healing poem
A
healing song-
We
are not well, not well at all.