Rhyme

With a cloud of rancorous belief and grey relief poised.

a bloody passover posed; allegedly retired from its millennium jaunty.

With a silent noise at a daggerpoint, oblivious minds steamed up

toxic presentation of buffet on the virus table circled with chairs,

the fluid meal made whole with rotten cells of toxins inside a globe

Preserved by a bat, or the pangolin or the faceless scum in a lab of pathogens

or the God’s handmade.

Who cares? Conspiracies regurgitated.

Death is the aroma, a cinch to the guests seated in isolation.

The global food, the great feast; pragmatically served to all and sundry

Wuhan embraces the microscopic meal with a grimace; dust raised, alarm silenced.

The guests; gluttonous globetrotters with civilized legs reached for a portion;

Gourmands grabbed their shares, homeward! It’s finished, empty plate on the centre.

Sanguinary days; shrapnel of sickness shattering lives like an incendiary cut across guests.

Vortex of pandemonium lay siege. Cacophony echoed; lock-downs and shutdowns.

Economy tumbles. Social distancing from normal routine; each human to their tenths.

Never knew the delicious food is a global sin; an accursed edible from the unknown good cook

Poisoned to end a good chunk of humans who patronized it; steals the air, apocalypse.

Humans’ tragedy turning our feast into a pandemic; respiratory sickness and death.

Is this the ultimate banquet? Or we’ve bartenders ready to serve us more?

A good guess like mine topples the days to and fro. Memories from the past;

dead ages forgotten. Purgation wet my panties, eat the crap. Violently pessimistic.

But if not our Last Supper, progenitors and posterity won’t believe

we witnessed a food war that smashes wealth, leaving health to thrive.

Like past, present and future if tomorrow is spared.

A nature’s feast or an anthropogenic cook or a supernatural spice?

Let’s leave the answer to the wise.