Ah! My injured heart cries
Compressed of agony and cramps
And my eyes flood streams of tears
On unveiled, wounding stamps

And I get hurt and maimed
Hit by the terms as shafts
Failing utterly, to be retained
I sink, pale and fainted, as rafts.

Naheed Akhtar

There has to be a reason why this bug is called a crown
And it is not simply that we are in certain awe of death
Perhaps it is designed to bring established systems down

A reason why air pathways of the lungs in fluid drown
There has to be a reason why it rides upon our breath
Perhaps it is designed to bring established systems down

Swiftly it moves across the globe through country state and town
Enveloping in its dreaded cloud every syringe and steth
There has to be a reason why this bug is called a crown

I wonder why the scholar says softly with worried frown
This virus seems to me so like Shakespeare’s Lady Macbeth
Perhaps it is designed to bring established systems down

The last thought of the lonely man in white hospital gown
Dying in smell of spirit and fading in fumes of meth
“There has to be a reason why this bug is called a crown
Perhaps it is designed to bring established systems down “

( Amita Sarjit Ahluwalia)

Note : ‘Corona ‘ in Greek, Latin , Spanish and Italian means ‘ Crown ‘

It will take me aeons,
To again grow and bloom
For so ruthlessly you plundered my plume,
That what remains is a hovering gloom.
And may be I just never bloom.

I make home in hearts
Always with a cautious start
Then carefree I dwell
Attached to all sentience
Verily believing all that is portrayed.

But now I am a broken thread ,
Lying in shreds
Next to the dead,
Of a rosary shattered
Its beads all scattered.

I was perforated when bullet pierced chests
I was burnt in houses set ablaze
I was desecrated in the holy place vandalized,
I was smouldered in the books set aflame
I drowned in the shrieks for help.

And now a lifetime is less
For me to incarnate
And thread the beads once again
To find a home in loving hearts,
Or wait for a miracle to change fate.

I sit near the window, ruminating,
riveted to the sounds of an ear- splitting silence.
Masked humanity lumbers in the dark,
stark terror etched on faces.

In the room, Leonard Cohen soulfully sings
about cracks in everything,
I hear a pigeon yodeling,
and a tiny robin puffs out its chest,
 testing its notes in the silent air.

On my mental screen, I see an octogenarian, in a hospital room,
thumping a triumphant fist in the air,
 silently celebrating his victory over the virus.

 I glimpse a sliver of bright light,
 insinuating itself through a crack
and flooding the gloomy room.
 The pigeon yodels on,
and the robin appears to have struck the right note

 after all the testing.

This Sunday, March 22, across India

there is this self-imposed curfew by the

citizens ready to fight the COVID-19 virus

through volunteer isolation.

I hear, first time, the fluttering of the wings,

throaty sound of the pigeons, chirping of the

sparrows out there somewhere on the trees,

and,

the hissing of the warm breeze

and the leaves, clearly, as there is no traffic

and toxic fumes;

a strange tranquility descends

smog—missing

stillness prevails;

can see the crows and pigeons,

first time,

search for crumbs

in big flocks

on the quiet streets of Mumbai suburbs.

The sweet sounds unheard for last many years

are back—kind of divine music lost

and temporarily recovered for few

fleeting hours!

It is as if nature and its feathery denizens

had reclaimed the urban jungle via their

felt presence!

God created man
man created machine
machines polluted environ
electrons protons neutrons…
DNA s and RNA s
single helix double helix
structures destroyed
creating a chaos….
Neural chemistry
biology and physics
all gone for a toss
parasites , bacterias ,
and viruses galore ,
large , small and tiny
on surfaces many
staying alive to kill
multiplying on broth …
DNA s mutilated
genes destroyed ,
no matter who cried
who begged and who tried….
to escape death
is a challenge my dear
live life happy
with smile and cheer….
cautious and fearful
but not living dead ,
tiny organisms we dread
mortal we are
did someone say ?
boasting of feathers
and more caps to wear
yet love and respect
demands the changing weather,
abuse abuse and abuse
will surely hit back
Noah’s Ark will surely float back…..
© Dr Swati A Gadgil , All Rights Reserved .

Finally, she got
justice though late,
yet she got Justice
After a voluble bout,
She got justice,
Though late yet
She got justice
After her death
She got Justice,
A day of fortune
for her family,
Acquainting them
Justice for verity
Is unraveled;
Though late,
She got justice
Favorable for all
girls who undergo
and feud with those
heinous beasts
to the final seconds
Informing them,
Though late,
Yet you will all
get justice now…….

New-fangled beliefs of people
are virtually formidable or less
virtually formidable;
If the virus is the knock,
Why we don’t ratify
Something best.

The knock, we are unlikely of,
Our veins got grated with the
outburst off the wall:
Our hearts are beating fast,
Our homes are on the menace,
Our family has wildly been
unnerved a lot.

A wife raises a question to her
husband,

“Are we going to die directly”
“
A mother to her son,

“What is the threat they are
addressing?’

A grandmother to her grand-
-sons

” What is VABA(the plague)?”

So, wis, what are the excuses
to be put on

This virus, no end of, scanning
the host;
Giving three precarious signs

Runny nose,

Sore throat,

Shortness of
breath,

So great is that won against
the knock,
And left beyond all
scaring,
The very nation is
China,
Who fronted every snag
of pandemic.

No deterrent strutted around
them;
But with vigor in hearts for
adored ones.

We can seize our opportunities,
If we love praying to Allah,
Morally not for just
Kashmir, but for
the whole sphere.

The moon just left my palm
Taking away the lines
Leaving for me some moon dust
And an uneasy calm

How have you been footing yourself
Battling
Blistering heat
of this mid-day
Desert spread

You have
Many other options
To Carp
like a fish
Rivers and lake alike

Listening,
My camel brush
Helped me
to paint
A nice little canvas
Fulfilling
All my other wishes