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.