“Nobody Comes, nobody goes. It’s awful.” Samuel Beckett
Where to find the life that has stuck completely?
No passerby to observe on the roads,
In the streets, even, in the yards
Of the neighbouring society.
Where the children have sought the shelter?
Playgrounds are screaming with pain
Of loneliness and solitude, though, hopefully
Waiting for the flowers to bloom again.
Temples of learning, though, welcome all
With open arms, now, remain locked.
School bells are securely resting in peace,
Classrooms actually enjoy pin-drop silence.
Street dogs, nevertheless, sitting comfortably
Yet struggling with pangs of solitude, as
No man outside to bark on, also
Waiting for some kind soul to feed them on.
Days and nights are packed with mental strain,
The clouds attract nobody to enjoy in rain.
Even though, now, have an ample of time,
None is willing to receive Mother Nature’s gain.
Nobody is bothering the Nightingale, singing
somewhere among the branches of a tree.
Perhaps, urging the people to live stress free,
Just be relax and enjoy a cup of tea.
The shadow of death prevails all around,
Everybody is quarantined, which is bound.
Most feel despondent after a long wait,
But still there are some
Having endless faith in “Waiting for Godot” to come.