At home all these forty days
lockdowns 1, 2, now 3
on the move, thought
I could relax when they began . it turned
otherwise. Cooking, cleaning,
gardening, washing, and what not
and what else turned me
into a busy bee,
It is the legs that plead
for mercy. Squatting, bending,
running to the gate, rushing to the kitchen,
give the knees an ache, sharp
and stabbing, Sitting and sleeping
turn painful.. I go on limping
unable to depute anyone
as all my helpers stay home safe.
No time to think about
anything, A passing look
at the newspapers where
Corona’s trajectory
sends a lump down the throat,
I speed to my laundry, the washing
machine comes down with a noise,
water overflowing.
Meenas Poems 