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death figures drown the eyes. conjectures:
a new cold war of superpowers or theory of conspiracy?

Once more, in our sandals of hope
Our weary feet will stand firm and tall
Again, the trees and wind will sing,
Nothing but ecstasy in lyrics of joy

Somewhere around, a sneeze only wreaked out from a
man’s throat & everyone faded away like smoke.

We remain in our homes,
like prisoners in their cells,
because there’s no promise
of aseptic air,
no promise of safe strolls,

We that stayed indoor painted figments of fear over our doorsteps,
We that went outside wore spacesuits on earth,

Everyone thought it was the end of the world but it wasn’t,
For it came like a thief at night, taking both the holy and unholy.

We’re busy fondling the breast of our phones
depositing our minds in the abstract
while avoiding reality’s stony face

And you stood there in your gowns and your masks
fetching people from the flame as if
you do not live in houses of flesh, as if
you do not have people whose hearts skip
and leap with currents of worries for you.

They drove past me and my brother—
The x and y in an equation
Past our cry for survival
Our hands resting on our waists

We are handicapped
In our roofed barns,
By an incorporeal army of weevils
That slosh our soft chins;
As if we were bunnies
Playing with their mother’s paws.