My phone rings and I’m rattled,
To pick or not, I battle,
For I fear the news,
Shall give me bruise,
I don’t want to hear,
How I lost someone dear,
Every ring gives me terror,
Bad news they deliver,
Almost one person each day,
Is taken far far away,
Friends, family, relatives,
All wiped away by diseases,
With no pause in between,
Deaths after deaths I see,
Yet somehow we’re expected,
Very easily demanded,
To be just as productive,
Just as creative.

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