Do I Really Belong Here?

I feel like a stranger in my own house.
I stand at the window, grappled by a haunting force.

No melody is sung by fruit and vegetable vendors.
No rustles of speeding bikes rush by.
No screeching car honks flood the roads.
No rumbles of school buses roar through the streets.
No giggles or whispers of sweet nothings are exchanged by lovers.
No chatter is rattled by mothers
While they wait for their little angles to return from school.

I see terrified faces flaunting green, blue and black masks.
This calm makes me restless, the loud silence is deafening.
I fear the peace and serenity, I worry about the toxicity of proximity.

But I also spot our valued guards
Bravely patrolling the haunted streets
Protecting the masked and unmasked alike.
I see doctors saving lives while risking their own,
Ardently standing by their patients.
These noble professionals are restoring hope, faith, and safety
In a world overwhelmed by fright, anxiety, and insecurity.

Oh God, with the chirping of birds and singing of cuckoos,
Revive the melodies of these Mumbai streets,
Re-compose the harmonies of life, the music to my ears.

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