Quaranta Giorni
40 days you stay away…
Docked along the port, I pray...
The term they called as quarantine...
A stitch in time, to save nine!
The medieval period introduced this to us…
As plague plagued Italy, the crew was cursed…
We face again horrors of the past…
Unless we gather ourselves acting timely and fast…
Corona the word, brings forth the crown…
Today when I utter, it invites a frown..
Or is it worse, I ponder , is it fear now?..
A new death dancer is indeed on its prowl…
No sneeze, no cough…
They’ve forgotten to laugh…
Towns are deserted...
Villages are skirted …
With maskmen galore, with gadgets advanced...
Hesitation and agony commanding a common man's stance...
It all was indeed a made in China tag...
Doesn’t give a free hand though to randomly bind and gag...
Bats or pigs.. pangolins or civets...
Or Is it the air, or water from the rivets?
How to contain this menace, is baffling to one and all...
The stocks meanwhile continue to fall..
WHO names it as COVID-19 ..
The crown as it were, is not losing its sheen...
While the nation of origin claims falling numbers...
Other parts of the world , continue to awaken from their slumber...
Simple measures to say the least …
Wash your hands before your feast..
Sneeze or cough you may but use your handkerchief
If you don’t have one, use your elbow sleeve...
Alcohol is better utilized to manufacture hand rubs..
Cinemas and gatherings can wait, so can your popcorn tubs..
Masks work better on those symptomatic..
And an approach is mandated which is logical and pragmatic…
The poem is written by Dr Amrit Gopan, MBBS-MD