Hypocrites at epidemic!

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Dilemma surface, the world being 
Danced at the 'fingertip' of a self confused being;
Which can not be called living nor as dead!
And only when the moment of heightened
Distress fall, that everything gets locked down…
Until then everything is painted perfect by the hypocrites…
Yes, I know, we may not die, it's just another flu,
But the oldies are prone, and we-
The 'healthy' ones carry it to them!
And I find me as one among those…
I know it's nothing to panic,
But the moment I think of losing my parents,
Dread creep in, I feel paralysed,
I can't imagine being an orphan in this big world…
My eyes welled up, and my throat did creek,
And someone told: 'why the oldies should live,
Let the babies survive!'


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