I walked in the near emptiness yesterday. Streets that have been friends for years looked at me with apprehension as I waited on sidewalks for people to pass on the far side. This, a city of ten million, was deathly quiet in what should have been the evening rush hour. I crept past a pushcart vendor selling tomatoes and greens. A motorcycle crept past me. When I got back home, I realized I had forgotten to check if the air felt cleaner, if there were more birds, if the sky was brighter. If the chai shop at the corner was open.
It is the third week of the lockdown. Only the third week.
masked city –
like kohl, your questions
darken my eyes
Also read:
Curfew: Day 15
THOUGHT PURGE 
“Streets that have been friends for years looked at me with apprehension . . . ” And in the panic at the masks–kohl or cotton–we forget to slow down and commit it to memory. I too, though I confess that I’ve been shirking the walking. But there is a perfectly lovely cemetery only a few blocks away that would do nicely and give me a metaphor too. Other poets have the sea , , ,
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I envy the poets who have the sea… I think the endless ocean will heal much better than rectangles of concrete….
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As an introvert, I don’t miss the crowds, but yes, people are more apprehensive of approaching. But the air is certainly clearer. What is good for Mother Nature should be good for Humankind too, isn’t it? How can we sustain it if what is good for humankind is not good for Nature?
Love your poem.
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True… only unfortunate part is this is an unequal contagion and the poor are bearing the brunt of it. So when we come out of it, we much find ways to fight inequality and climate change together – in socially sustainable ways. Thanks so much.
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Reblogged this on Frank J. Tassone and commented:
#Haiku Happenings #6: Rajani’s latest #haibun!
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It sounds so eerie. I am venturing out today. It is so beautiful out one would never dream the hideous virus is everywhere waiting to attach itself. Gah.
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More so because we are so used to people and crowds and traffic that we hardly notice their presence, but the absence is striking.
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