Prose Of A Covid Heart

The sun rises at my doorstep

Signalling the day to start afresh

The bustling wind blows through the attic

Into crevasses and corners of my home

Raindrops appear, time and again

Dousing the leftovers of last dawn

Pink roses bloom underneath the stairs 

And overlooking is the green willow

And there along the sideway, I see

The garden of Eden and weeds, mellow

A bright white moon makes a cameo 

In the rustic theatre of crimson clouds

And, a procession of stars sparkles 

My dark night harbouring them all

Has the world changed now, 

Or is it only a difference of sight?

I wonder, was it my life that blocked the spring

Or has the day hindered (what I thought was) my life?