Pandemic Ghazal (April 1, 2020)

No one in the world knows
who will go and who will stay.

How can there even be a thing like death
On such a beautiful Spring day?

You tell us die
before death:
The whole apparent world's Your play.

So far, my respiration’s clear,
All systems feel ok.

I go out shopping once a week.
Walks are a daily getaway.

Trying to practice all the precautions,
Extra hands seem to grow and get in the way!

Some seem favored just by virtue of being obsessive.
Are others spared because they harbor no moral decay?

We continue to exist in some realm,
With or without this mortal clay.

Oh, BABA, I sit here feeling this life is still good;
but either sooner or later, I too will be going away!

(April 1-2, 2020)