What is the essence of life if we cannot remain in control of our planet?
The very thing we create becomes the beast that plagues us, its tentacles reaching for our inner beings. Fear, eating us from the inside, twisting us and leaving us shells of our former selves.
What becomes of life if we are fearful in our planet home?
Deadly viruses threatening our freedom, nature’s gift going up in flames, leaving us scrambling around like robbers scared of the cops.
The wheels of nature suddenly going anti-clockwise, turning us off its course, ripping our sense of control away from us. Leaving us the preys, running from its deadly fangs.
When did it all go wrong? Yesterday, the day before, or are we getting the results of our own actions?
A great nation being controlled by a microscopic particle. A country with a fourth of the world’s population turning into a shell of its past self, banks and shops out of service, schools postponed. The streets wide and empty, a cloud of disaster hung on the air, reminds one of the apocalypse. Hospitals have suddenly turned to a dreary place we hope to avoid. Our rooms becomes our only solace, locked inside its walls praying to our different gods that the nightmare ends.
Sometimes, the only left option is to seize our breath and hope not to get infected.
We live with hope, with the hope that all this will soon be over.