Corona is a sly assassin

In an up–and-down nation.

It kills less from partying,

More from starvation.

 

Those that rush decrepit trains

In afflicted mega cities

Have no morsel and no note

In  their exhausted kitties.

 

They may not the virus feel,

But hunger bites so keen

That a jaggery bit in a village home

May be their vaccine.

 

Their vote gives us governments,

But governments are not for them;

So, as Corona demonetizes now,

They recall an earlier time

 

When they died in beseeching lines,

Not to an invisible viral trick,

But, less  subtly, to lack of food

Brought on by a banking pandemic.

 

The hoi polloi—they  live and die

As an accidental circumstance;

Be it Corona or be it hunger,

They rarely have a chance.

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