Lockdown Fidgeting Mood

Moon isn't different; same do sun. But we all for peace get the streets shun. Weather caress us so well. Should earth not be healed; won't all wish hell? The pleasure taken indoor is off beast mode, More than necessity could brace, all calm abode. Its insane how the crueler widens each moment. Yes! The news becomes abhorrent. Each day becomes long in bed; Couldn't pray of daily bread, All we thought of is manna from heaven. Fell truly, though all was distributed amongst seven. And has day passes, cocks cease to crow... Only couples continue to plough, Not even farmers that could heal the land. Plants lacking sunlight shall live to wither, In the face of Corona plants, farmers become weary to withstand The peace streets enjoys lonely as weather slithers. The dying seeds await their falls... Farmers aren't scared to grace the silent night* It seems courtesy colors their calls. With the burn, they become more delight Despite all the risks that abounds. We pray for all farmers' souls gone to rest--- May courage from others be not divest, That all retires to their compounds. Truly, our night gowns are wet in tears... In it we continually pray "everyone's life be repaired." All roads become pleasing... That we may find the cure, Even the ones we tag impure now retreating, To ease our fears so pure. If not of faith, should we have forgotten our fountain? If not by grace, none should have answered --- the origin rejected long on mountain. Pastors flee; all retires to their comfort, Imams skip the usual advert of God's stalwart. Is He no longer He who has done great in the past? Or was it our faith becoming so aghast? O God almighty, be thou forever receive honor. We kowtow as a hopeless goner, Let thy favour lights our grace, And turn around the world's case. Though weary hearts rarely render praises!