Pacing the Pandemic
Isolated under a stranger roof
confined to a space not my own
with bare minimum of animation
just because a virus struck me
almost crippled pace of the life,
insane dreams envelop nights
gathering around my soul
a malicious mind interfering
in my meeting with the self
how strangely I took to spirituality,
rescued by the light of dawn
dissolving in zephyr’s serenity
through a chink between seams
I rub screen of my cellphone
to eye my location on timescale
nothingness makes revelation_
wrapped loosely I am encased
back in the womb, eating, floating
living only to breathe and age,
sometimes a gush of tribulations
drowns my awestruck beatitude
trying to drizzle my ripened foetus
more it wets, heavier feels
pulsation of thudding heart
mind pumps out puffs of smokes
stingy are the omens for journey
bad dreams never enervate
playing with my wanderlust knack
plucking my unfazed solidarity
punching my inflamed patience
lying sedentary with folded wings.
In response to the Saturday Prompt “what is the pace” in Scrittura by J.D. Harms.
Era Garg April 2021
