The streets are vacant,
in sheer silence; they are still
captured by people in their homes—
playing, resting, reading
baking, cooking or cleaning,
making art and reliving
all things; they rarely did before.

The streets are secluded,
longer and wider,
brushed with trees,
painted with flowers
that are blooming,
with life in the
city coming to a stand-still,
in the mid summer of March
and the beginning of April’s heat.

With pin-drop silence,
to an infant who is put to sleep
nestling in the arms of a mother,
feeling the wrap of her newborn—
the nature is being nursed,
over a lullaby sung,
breathing the fresh air into its lungs,
of trees that are shaded
in different colors of green.

The streets are in bed,
the nature is awoke,
with sounds of the birds,
with the branches of trees
having leaves fuller than ever,
with gust of the wind never failing to blow,
reminding of the air we need to breathe;
the sound of the waves
crashing towards its shores
in oceans, rivers that are flowing in abundance,
reminding us, how scarcely we need,
for them to consumed in bare minimum.

With the mud brewing
it’s freshly ground smell,
are the people making tea,
filtered coffee in their homes,
to sit in the middle of a table with a family of four; a routine they could never follow before.
With the markets silenced in the evening that are usually abuzz
with people bargaining,
are people, now preparing home-cooked meals,
to talk at a dinner table that was left unoccupied, not long ago.

While, some are finding solace in this peace,
there are others who are driven to feel locked away; quarantined,
While, some are peeling off the skins of the fruits and vegetables they can rapaciously eat,
there are others, who are finding ways to meet ends; to consume basic needs,

While, some are resting in their homes,
there are others, who are working incessantly towards its recovery and to sustain needs of the society;
Yet, amongst all other things—
the world is presumed to be on a hiatus

The outbreak continues, waiting wordlessly,
dwelling and being swept in earth’s glory
while the world, its people are asleep,
wresting with thoughts alone—in a future that is now unknown and bleak; it has shaken every mankind to reflect on this desolation
while, it continues to struggle
to break in fragments of
a prayed uncertain full recovery.

– Shweta Kher


  1. Christo N · May 10, 2020

    Beautiful Poem, such a strange time for humanity, hibernation and a rethinking of everything, nicely articulated with a tendency towards the beautiful. Loved it:)

    Liked by 1 person

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