(Pic courtesy: Pixabay)
Collectively drowning in quicksand
and know not where to look
The pandemic and its resultant
cancellations, negations, and closures
have shaken the ground beneath us
How do we navigate through this?
Knowing that all knowns will be lost
Entrenched in these ominous thoughts,
I look past my living room window
To witness the distant yet fiery sun
captured evocatively by Van Gogh
with his olive trees and yellow sky
Before his breakdowns became debilitating
Profound resonance in circular brush strokes
Remark I, wiping the dust off of old hardcovers
Hemingway surely knew what he wrote
Man can simply keep on learning but
there is a certain amount each can understand
for whom does the bell really toll?
Convoluted messages, augmenting figures on
random news updates, incessant literature
and flawed messages on social media
Are we narrativizing the pandemic properly?
Divorced from empathy, it is monstrous
Ring around Rosie adopts a novel perspective
death from a virus; ominous retellings
science fragments but art conjoins
hope might seem like Bronte’s
timid friend; vanished on listening close
Again by my windowsill looking at the sky
How would the great meteor of 1860 seem?
Hopeful; leaning towards better tomorrows
Already etched in the minds of artists
waiting, just waiting to be heard
albeit passively in times such as these.
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