We Pray That The Big Apple Doesn't Fall

It’s almost two weeks quarantined

As the big city is closed to the

uninvited

Ever spreading

Ever inquisitive virus.

The silent carrier

Of a death sentence

For our sickly and aging,

That has plagued the spirit of our streets,

Store corners,

Schools,

Parks,

Buses and subways...

...That unearths our anger, fear and trauma

And leaves us bewildered

Unkempt

And tormented in our tiny apartments.

As we long,

And even the introverts,

For things once repulsive:

The hustle and bustle,

The shouts and screams and cries

That made normal

What now threatens our very existence. \

If the virus comes today

Who lives?

What happens?

And where do we find solace in our beloved city?