It was Covid triggered desolation swept around my school compound, but recent heavy rainfall, the warm wintry sun and winds heartened the green foliage to bright bloom with giggling, thankful airs. I imagined they were mockingly unmindful of the travails suffered by humanity – their masters.
One such robust, tall shrub among them seemed lustier; with lively, abundant yellow cluster of flowers, as if Christmas bells tied together seemed clamoring for attention: dancing, swinging, seen like having a waltz in the warm morning sun.
The moment I stepped out, the morning reminded me about the festival, the festival of lights: Diwali. As usual, I got readied for the morning stroll along the corridor, and I couldn’t ignore hearing the gaiety of the flora lined about the compound. I struggled to jack up my fragile emotions built up like an anthill. The fallout, evident on my drained face, after eight months of isolation, desolation – a jailhouse type of confinement – a situation the pandemic COVID-19 has imposed the world over.
Down there, I heard the mocking flowers rebelliously whistling, hollering as if teasing, “See how divinely we spread vibrancy and magic, and how lamely you humans, struggle, wither and die infested by an invisible virus.”
Hello man, a bunch of yellow blooms whistles at me, “don’t you look so miserable; come down for a while, play with us, and smile with your camera” I heard their satirical wit. For a moment, I ignored my fussiness; brushing aside my blues, I spared some good time focusing closely on their vibrant colors.