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Seven in the mornings are now too late,
He realized still bed-laid
For jogs are now mired by the sun
Scorching to sweats without a run.
Eight was the time he left for work
But now, locked in with a smirk
As he twirled the easy, hot noodle
And clicked the day’s Google doodle.
Nine hundred rupees the other man earned
Per day, as his limbs long burned
Lockdown! He now heard the word
As the cops whacked butts when bored.
Ten days of walk is all that’s needed
For home; with an empty stomach that pleaded
He now set out of the city
To survive, options weren’t plenty.
Eleven hours, slept the white-collar former
Who skipped jogs when the days were warmer
The latter could skip no jogs, for
The home to walk for days was far.
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