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Stay Home, He’s Outdoor

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Far from this, that Grand Ma’s fairy

This one is not incubus and succubus that haunt in dream

This is the devil, real and deadly

Not just nightmare but real horror, not fantasy

He stands at the door-

Axe, sword without sabre at hand

Waving with two hands like rotary fangs

Of high vent standing fan

In his pouch, poison –

Pints upon pints of killer virus

A drop of that death

On earth

In mouth

In hand

In nose

Serves mortuary ticket, direct

Behold his face,

It’s undertaker, beheld

He knows no joy

Never sparing any hint of smile,

Even if one wry

Breathe off his breath,

Your lungs will block

The way he blocks your hither used way

As you choke like fish out of water,

he strangles with two hands too

Serving asphyxia

Like a task man set to ration air.

Standing at the door

Like a gate bouncer without pity

Unmoved by appeal

More merciless than guillotine

He cuts every head that veer,

He chops every leg that stray,

He deems set chunk

Any hinder to his cut and chop.

Far from this, that Grand Ma’s fairy

This one is not incubus and succubus that haunt in dream

This is the devil, real and deadly

Not just nightmare but real horror, not fantasy

He is not vampire

He neither famished carnivore

Nor wizard desirous of bloods to suck

He is an agent

Not just of death

But of ally of the cemetery attendant

He feeds them jobs

And fills their tombs

Out there he stands

In chilling cold.

In hot heat

Day through night.

Mean and menacing like a mass murderer’s ghost

Bitterly heading to hell in angst

His heart, not purged

Of the generation-cleansing plot and intent

He desires to exterminate all out of earth

Before his vices meet God

Earns him vaccines

Or at least, checkmate

Far from this, that Grand Ma’s fairy

This one is not incubus and succubus that haunt in dream

This is the devil, real and deadly

Not just nightmare but real horror, not fantasy

His name is COVID

His number is ’19’

His virus from corona

He’s unapologetic about anything

And

So, so sadistically livid

That to dare him is foolhardy

So vain-prone that it’s dead end

Like owl and  crow

He lives lonely

With only one limit

Of living in the street

He’s too proud to call on homes

Unless invited by your stepping outdoor to bid him come

Stay indoor, you escape his attention

Once outdoor, you invite his hit

With such wicked fury

That history has never told.

Far from this, that Grand Ma’s fairy

This one is not incubus and succubus that haunt in dream

This is the devil, real and deadly

Not just nightmare but real horror, not fantasy

Stay home

Till he leaves

Stay alive

He’s vice.

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