This summer sounds like
a bad sci-fi script
sneaked out of the trash bin
and bribed its way to a wealthy production house.
It feels like
one long meditation session the universe never signed up for.
If I could decide for all,
I would have traded the meditation for hyper sleep pods,
Have us all slumber off for three months,
or six,
and return to show Covid-19 the middle finger.
This summer looks like
I am watching a never-ending game of golf
on a television set that cannot be turned off,
and the TV remote mocks me from the couch.
It has no batteries.
This summer feels
like I am trying to find the right key from a bunch of hundreds.
This summer looks
like the earth is in the jaws of a monster,
like it is in the middle of a long eclipse,
like someone took the book of Revelations too seriously – I hate this author as much as the bad sci-fi one.
This summer is beginning to read like a book
where we all make up the words,
only one on each page.
This summer
sounds as chaotic as this poem.
Day 2 of the 21-day lockdown in India
I wrote this in a lighter vein to help myself fight back the lows during this lockdown. In no way do I intend to dismiss the threat of Covid as a frivolous one. Stay indoors, stay safe.
Grains of thought 