People are fragile,
Afraid of change.
They process a new development in their lives,
In a hurried and careless manner.

As if they can't tolerate the ripple,
It would cause in their stagnant lives.
It's as if, every now and then,
The incompotents are forced to display their brutality and animalistic urge through an inhuman act,
Which, after much difficulty,
They take into account,
And again seek solace in their mundane lives.

Swearing and cussing and all the while believing,
This won't ever happen to them.
In the wake of such mishaps,
There's only one thing they're really concerned about,
Why the newspapers and channels won't showcase their usual fundbazaar news,
Or whether or not a celebrity baked a cake in quarantine,
Or when will Ramayan telecast again,
As if the act of being oblivious,
Can cure their miserable existence.

I wonder what has become of us,
What will become of us.

I wonder how many sacrifices are necessary in order to change their perspectives,
Which lens would provide them with a clearer view of the world,
I wonder if i should bear a daughter.


I wonder.
And given the pace of this new world,
I guess, I'll always wonder.