Poem: Lockdown stories
Oh! What a plethora of disarrays
lockdown has it woven in many ways
should I be grateful
for the fortune of unison,
for the roof above, the food on the plate and my clipped wings haven't caused any collision.
Or should I contempt the vanished silence,
the parted tranquility drawn by the day
for me, just my way?
When there was this regime
slotted for my desires draped in scribblings.
Call me selfish! name me insensitive!
as I must endure the endearing gathering,
for the clock isn't ticking
to drift us apart anymore but I don't.
The sand isn't still in an hour glass.
It won't spare the unworn new uniform,
the gleeful outstation plans or
a whole year striding away
into preterit.
The lettered would say- "so petty of you!
life isn't on the brink of collapsing!
Plans can be made, things can be done
once the malign sprawling devil is won."
I would embrace the hope that cures are on the carpet and steps are taken,
that a bright day follows this dawn
But how shall I retrieve the sand
while it's gone?
