Hunger, Miseries & Obituaries: An April of Doom


I. A daily wager
Die you rich bastards,
for you have hoarded all the food,
to god, will tell my starving daughter,
the Rich killed us before this virus could.

II. A dying man in Gaza
The last memories of my land are fading,
I wish this virus bring down the wall.
a million ways to die under occupation,
is this the freedom, after all?

III. An anxious social worker
So many dead; many more suffering,
city on lockdown; the poor starving,
shoot at sight for the one infringing,
take the bullet; my heart keeps whimpering.

IV. A migrant Labour
My son over my shoulder,
starving, for hundreds of kilometres,
hundreds more to go till I see you mother,
pity me, god, may I survive the hunger.

V. A grief-stricken half widow
Three years, I have spent waiting,
for the footsteps, to return approaching,
out during the curfew, he went buying,
a packet of milk, my son, keeps starving,
this lockdown on my heart is a winter never-ending.

We believe that if we owe an explanation to anyone, it’s our readers. We make the powerful accountable to this democracy and remain answerable to only our readers. This becomes possible only with a little contribution from you. Consider making a small donation today and help us remain a free, fair and vibrant democracy watchdog.

VI. A startled rich guy
Oh, look! A crow is cawing,
from far-far away, his voice piercing,
greener plants; the sky is shining clearer
the beauty of childhood returned, has the April of life begun?

VII. A struggling theatre artist
Rent day is approaching
no shows, no more bookings
no roles left, except to play my own,
I’ll return home, to teaching; shall I survive this the April of doom.

VIII. A  struggling writer
No one dies of hunger,
none left without a shelter,
if I could write a world,
where no one is poor.


Scroll To Top