Oh, at last, a big sigh of relief,
If, at all, an escape have you got from the Bug's grip;
From the bone-breaking hide-out,
In the end have you come out,
So are flexing your muscles rigid and so stiff,
And amok are you raiding the streets
As each corner does quake with your chest beats,
While the humble and helpless
All awestruck by your rat race
For regaining your weaken'd energy-pack units.
Have the modernist humans been winner, however?
Have their lives been forever secure?
You do know that your fate
Cannot ever be ultimate
In relentless severing by throat-cutting saber.
Your intelligent brain of Narcissus
Has hoodwinked the apocalyptic Virus,
But to your own images --
In the self-engineer'd mazes --
That a victim are you -- to own curse.
Now the Pandemic's going down the history lane.
But back gets the mankind's in-tow Bane,
Demonized with fierce forces
Of own wrongs and so vices,
To resume his horrifying devastation and rein...
-- N. P. SAMAL
Comments
Post a Comment