The virus and I

K Radhakumar
A black hawk hovers
Over the sea of humanity;
The earth shakes with fright.
No smile hovers
On one’s lips.

The First World War
Hiroshima Nagasaki
Where the green leaves fell
Before a hard winter
For love of one’s country and motherland –
That’s past history now.
Covid-19!
The day is not far off
When one will say,
‘Well, we won’t talk about it –
That’s history.’
The death of millions of people!
The hawk flies slowly past;
At noon
The hawk appears
As a black dot on the horizon.
 
It’s not everyday
One is made to learn
One is involved in mankind:
Thanks to Covid-19!
There’s not much, not much
To philosophize about death;
It’s a natural phenomenon.
When it affects others –
Death is hell,
A thing not to be proud of.
In these hard times
One dreams of a death
Which is not the cause of death
Of one’s fellow citizens.
Western slopes
 Akham Bonbirdhwaja Singh
The winds sweeping down the valley
Carrying the songs of the bullock carts
Hundreds of cart drivers
Experts in folklore
Singing a relay song,
sweet in country tune
Sounding like string songs
The whole night dark and cold
Navigated by the bullocks expert,
Songs of lovelorn they prefer
Like ants in procession,
Seemingly endless they are coming,
Sweet smells of grasses they carry,
Smells of the half burnt oaks
The edible herbs in their clothes bundle
Waiting to be endeared by ladies at home
Didn’t forgot acorns the children’s delight
The carts came down the western slope,
The unbridled creeks of the cart,
rhyming the songs so sweet.