It’s not the end

It’s not the end.
Is it me or the wind which has stopped
Stopped in the stagnancy of worry and fear
Fear, rush and confusion , which once ruled the streets
Have now squatted my conscience and crippled my feet.

I can walk, but it has restrained my strides
I can hear, but all I hear are sirens and people crying
I can see , but all I see is darkness and people dying
But now as I think , maybe it’s us who have dimmed the lights .

Stranded in the midst, of a process to accept reality
A reality which we’ve been trying to avoid since ages
And a process to unlearn the faulted norms
Norms which have brought upon us this ordeal.

Many conversants say we are on the verge of
an end
An end which we don’t accept but certainly condign
But I, wish to live, this time with the unlearned norms
And all I hope , is a way to break the cage of mourns.

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