Pandemic Poems

AIRY QUERIES

Death is a little bird
sitting on our fence
Will it over eat—
our forests are so dense?

Death, now on my window sill
this day of mystic haze,
Will it fly out far—
or stay back close and laze?

WHERE ARE WE, THEN?

Space doesn’t move
’cause it’s sitting,
Time is unmoved
’cause it’s moving.

Together, are they here—
or there, or simply air?
Are we then the ghosts,
adrift in dreams
thinking we are real?

WITHOUT A MAP

Having broken bread with time—
nations, civilisations,
where do you bury secrets, before you hide?
Where do your lakes whirlpool
to rivers shy of sun?
Where do your grasslands graze themselves away?

How do you sandgrain pastures?
How do you sink foundations
that you have raised?
O! Dodos and dinosaurs,
Will we be homosapiened,
taped in the hands of clocks we fossilised
to measure, just before our time?

A TASTE OF DOOM

Pots all empty, pans all soiled
Body hungers lust and coil

I look up, the rain falls dry
Only tears to wash the eyes

The horns of hope bend and toil
The kids look up and find no sky.

VIRUS OF HOPE

Who can see the stars at noon?
Who can sense the virus of doom?

The gods lie unattended now
In little homes we built them all
As if their cosmic dome
Was much too small?

Who can see the future loom?
Where is the frayed edge
The false end of carpet
Beyond our current cliff and gloom?

I see light, I see light,
I shall walk the tunnel till its bright
From disillusioned stars of day
To stars that burn and glow all night

Nope, nope to darkness
Now it’s a window seeing only light

About The Author

Aman Nath

Aman Nath is an author, architectural restorer and co-founder of Neemrana Hotels