Kondottiyans

The repatriation flight skids off the tabletop runaway,

thundering in the tailwind.

Homing dreams crash through the optical illusion.

 

Breaking the pandemic shackles,

they gallop toward the gruesome gorge.

Downpour and darkness cannot immure their vigor.

They are incandescent with compassion,

forget their masks.

Excruciating voices.

They hasten to hospitals,

carrying the passengers in PPE kits,

who are either dead or dying.

Their WhatsApp messages multiply agile hands.

They wait before the blood banks.

The forlorn kids are glued to their hearts with the love-epoxy.

 

They return home to quarantine themselves

at dawn.

Humans aren’t extinct among men.

 

September 20, 2020