A letter to Covid19


Dear COVID! You confuse my ruminating mind.
Are you a friend or a foe? Are you cruel or kind?

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When you sit alone and look at the sky, you wonder what could have been if you would have said yes to something or even would have just said no.
You might regret it today.
You might want to change it.
You keep losing yourself in your thoughts.
Thoughts that you could have chosen a different path.
You could have followed your dream.
You could have been something else.
You could have been someone else.
You wonder about the thousand different possibilities.

But you are already something right now at this very moment.
You are already someone today.
You have already started a journey and have travelled a long way.
So why not make most of what you already have.
Why not just replace the regrets with passion.
Why not just make this one imperfect possibility,
the perfect possibility!

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A poet will cage it in the poetry,
A painter will trap it in the hues.
A musican will mix it in the music,
A dancer will depict it in the moves.

You see, if you please the artists,
or even leave them perturbed,
they will capture your hue in their art
and reveal it to the world.

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Beware of the poets.
They will steal
a part of your soul,
hide it in the words,
and will make a
Horcrux out of it.

They will make you immortal.

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Sitting on the window seat of my office bus, I was watching a train crossing us, running on the tracks parallel to the road.

It pushed my own train of thoughts to a journey, unknown of its destination. My eyes started dancing with its course. My heartbeats slowly synced with the sound of the rushing-rolling wheels. My mind began wandering leisurely along with its pace.

And as the two carriers parted their ways, my soul went along with the train, just my body continued persisting in the bus, staring into the oblivion, out of the square window.

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They provide the luxuries
which they can't
afford for themselves.

(The underprivileged)

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Who am I?
I am a wizard who has lived a
thousand lives without actually dying.
I am a wanderer who has travelled to a
thousand places without moving the feet.
I am every book I have ever read.

I am a SHELF-made woman.

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I played with the words
and a poem was formed,
The words played with me
and a poetess was born.

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