I am tired.
Shh! I rebuke myself.
Count again your many blessings.
Remember the homeless, dying crowds.
This race has not even begun, much less, won.
Tis a marathon like none that has been run, I tell myself.
And a month
Drags on to half a year.
I’ve taken things in stride.
While many who stride on home
Do sadly find themselves at starting point.
They have no luxury to while and track the time and tide.
A dear perfume,
Dabbed on in idle leisure,
Seems more sharp and fragrant.
Colourful, balanced, lockdown meals,
That many miss, I guiltily consume each day.
Seems only right to wallow some in these depressing times.
The virus spreads.
Theories and remedies too.
In many, creative embers stoked.
With constant news of Covid and other ills,
Flicker flames of doubt and fear, hope and faith,
And prayers said, for worthier thoughts and deeds to fill our lives.
(The author is a civil servant from the Indian Revenue Service (IRS) and writes when inspired by various facets of life).
Pictures taken by Mimi during her memorable homebound journey

Photo credit: Sweetie (returnee) 
Water fall in the village. (Photo credit: Gairiaksin, returnee)
Jhum field. (Photo credit: Gairiaksin, returnee)