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This is to those who saw through the hurtful reign of the pandemic; those who bear memories of those we have lost. This is to survivors.


Surrounded by rocky cliffs creeping into the blue sky,
The hood used to be a haven to be—
Over here, mothers nursed their babes on stools
There, youths were given to hopscotch
And fathers sat around their chessboards—
All busy, unafraid, unabashed!

Then, Night, flourishing her golden crown,
Came with legions of unsavoury companions,
Seeking our homes, lives and bliss!
Such a brute queen Night was—
She had condemned us to damnation;
The very cost of hosting her were our throats!

We all fled her council, rebellion in our minds!
We’d had her rule enough, to our homes we fled,
Lurking behind closed doors, peeking through windows.

under the sheets

Our footpaths have become moss-lined
The chessboards have become dust-ridden
The stools have turned grassy
Our clear blue sky is numb with Night
But in our hearts blossoms the hope
That victorious Dawn approaches.

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