There’s something surreal about this morning

There’s something surreal about this morning

Chirped the sparrow, 

The horns are not blaring

No fumes, no soot is flaring

Pristine, bisque, sunlight is tearing

Making way through folioles, the trees are bearing

A sight, so recherche, so uncomparing

 

There’s something surreal about this morning

Bellowed the cows

The roads seem forsaken

The sparse humans, in sight, seem shaken

To the pastures, we have not been taken

Up is the sun, did the master not waken

Is all really serene, or are we all mistaken

 

There’s something surreal about this morning

Snarled the dogs

Missing are the honks jarring

Empty bylanes, with no child starring

No food thrown for us, the hunger is charring

Hither, thither, we roam, with no debarring

Desolate streets, only a few humans barring

 

There’s something surreal about this morning

Swooshed the trees

Crisp and clean, effervescent is the air

A piece of heaven, seems to have descended here

Rolling our eyes, we search for them everywhere

For so less of them are visible, far and near

But, why should it matter, why should we care

 

There’s something surreal about this morning

Whispered the mother

For I have hushed them all, forbidden them to meet each other

Shh…don’t make noise, lest the virus will smother

Now, that all humans are caged, all my children other

Can breathe freely, for not only theirs, of you alI, I  am the Mother.