I was walking with my dog .Skooby, today morning. It was a beautiful morning, a cool breeze blowing, a clear sunny California day. It was not a long walk, about two miles. As I was walking, the idea of a poem was sprouting in my mind. I could clearly see the words floating in front of my eyes. I decided to write the poem down as soon as I reached home. Alas, once I reached home and sat down to write, I realized my beautifully arranged words were no longer lining up as beautifully and now all jumbled up. I opened my smartphone and was disappointed as it turned out not to be smart but dumb. The dumb phone failed to record my thoughts. What good is its smartness for? Now I was forced to rely on my old, failing memory instead of the smart memory of my phone. Well, to make a long story short, the poem did not turn out to be as beautiful as I envisioned. But rest assured, though it may sound to be a rambling one, I did not have a single iota of malice in my mind towards anyone. Not even to the one whose statue would never be erected to adorn any significant public square anywhere in the world to be toppled by future protesters. In fact I am indebted to him for being the inspiration of the poem.
When did it come to this,
The choice of
Six feet apart, or
Six feet under
Became valid?
We became afraid
To cough in public,
But OK to fart,
Louder the better,
No infection danger.
When did it become the norm
To wear mask in public,
But wearing hijab is
Still wrong?
And those in denial
Justifying their refusal
To wear mask,
Proclaiming their freedom of choice,
When it become OK
To knowingly infect others?
And that’s not a crime?
Are these the same
Who indignantly proclaim
Their rights to bear arms?
Reasoning guns don’t kill
People do,
Now will they say
People do not infect,
Corona does?
We are all so scared of
The truth,
And embrace
All the fake news.
As long as the
Chief protagonist
Butters our toasts
It’s OK.
Toasts may get
Burnt black,
Who cares,
As all life matters
But it is difficult to say
Black life matters, because
All does not include black.
Sometimes I wonder,
Who created white and black,
Blue and brown?
Blue blood,
Never seen one.
If ever I see the almighty
I do plan to ask.
But which one?
All the children of the books
Profess only to their one.
If even I dare to say
I do pray,
But not to the one
You or you do,
I shall be
Consigned to hell.
Spokesperson who hijacked
The words of the
All merciful,
May say
Off with my head,
If I dare to doubt.
I prefer my neck
On my head.
Neither do I prefer
To go to hell,
Not that what they are making
This earth is
Any better.
Peace be on you all
If I dare say,
But whose peace?
Oh, how I digress
For whatever it counts
To me,
Black lives matter,
Lives of the repressed matter,
Lives of the discriminated matter,
Lives of the oppressed matter,
Lives of the persecuted matter,
And yes, All lives matter.
Guns do kill,
As Covid kills,
As people kill,
As lies kill.
And I want my freedom
To cough in public,
Even hidden behind
The mask.
No, not to infect.
I don’t relish the thought
To fake
And fart
To hide my cough.
Fleeting Muse 