When gleaming dark invisibles become visible,
Trouncing the white gatekeepers invisible,
The red opuntia pricks your throat,
in the scorching body of panchatatva.
The inflamed warrior in you wilts,
in the strife of the visible and invisibles,
You see the monitor’s soaring visibles,
The Doctor sees the vile invisible visible.
In a bed of forced solitude,
Mulling over the thin dripping line,
Between contamination and containment,
When did you lose touch your moorings?
The sanctity of food, earth, hands and habits,
tapering to the less exotic, more of the staid stew,
Less hankerings for the instagrammed gratification,
Just the resonances of the inner voice!
No, not your followers not the arsonists,
Nor the 2.5k tweets come to your rescue,
The virulent strain drives all to evanesce,
Your mantle and mettle, tests you.
Are you the survivor?
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