I have seen some deaths in Indian newsrooms,
where dead bodies are blaming, shouting, shaming and taunting,
as if their minds are still working.
I have seen some deaths in newsrooms,
where the corpses are still laughing, joking, eating and walking,
as if they can’t register their deaths.
I have seen some deaths in newsrooms,
where the remains are still speaking, debating, screaming and screeching,
as if they don’t realise they are just soulless creatures now.
It is too much for them to bear.
It is too much for me to see.
The day rises,
The night sleeps,
but they remain ignorant about their condition.
I am waiting for somebody to tell them
that they are no more.
I am waiting for someone to wake them up
so that they may sleep in peace.
Soon, someone should tell them that “it’s all over now”.
You see, the zombies are not listening to me.
They are coming for me.
They are coming for you.
where shall we look for cover now?
Everyone is infected with the virus somehow.
Could you try talking to them about their lifelessness?
But right, they are dead now.
How can they hear us?
Bhumika Popli is a Delhi-based journalist who often writes poetry, and attempts to shoot fascinating subjects through a myriad of lenses.
Featured image credit: InspiredImages/Pixabay