and the variegated teeth
with an immersed worries by
the corridors- I wash my
hands with my pure head,
o, don’t contract disease.
the coloured sky cries aloud
with impulse of imitating matchboxes
where the consanguinity of the world
goes by its keens.
now, everybody becomes sceptical by
the mirage of daunting dooms in the
louvres of this decade– when the
apothegm becomes misery
at out eyes, while longevity
even the medical experts are naive,
leaders are feigned with thought
and borders are closing down
with this untimely Apocalypse
in a serpentine of grief.
Let this moment be pachyderm of
our heart, and those who should
wait by the trumpet time—this
heaven’s gate is near.
our fear is palpitating across our muscles—
please don’t shake! Please don’t touch someone!
and kindly avoid social gathering
this pandemic has become a
panoply of souls in Asia and Europe;
and the basket by the riverside in
Africa is exasperated by this guilt
while 2020 is parchment of history.
I now wonder why this is becoming
a postscript to our many conversations
of plough to a deadly repercussions
to our sins and cruelty.
Note: this poem is to address my concern about
What is currently going on- like an act of torment
I’m the world. I say: HAPPY POETRY DAY.