Is 2020 Truly Accursed? Poem by Vaibhav Simha

To most, the vilest year bids its farewell,
A suffix of dates resonating with the knell.
Off-limits was physical embrace; far away,
Distant, my kith and kin on a forlorn holiday.

Now ‘tis the time to celebrate the passing
Of the tyrant's stroke, each second amassing
A cross-starred life plagued by the beacon
Of the year's misgivings—for rue, more reason.

Yet with a change of date, is returned our year,
Is mended the trauma, will we be rid of fear?
It is not clear, the bounty in the quagmire sphere.
We've surely suffered, but we now more endear…

We now more endear our frenemies, neighbours,
The school, the chambers, and doctors, your saviors.
For in this time of despair, you saw yourself alone
And found haven in your family, a harbour in the cyclone.

Ye titular adult, your dependence is bare.
You know now that this year, though unfair,
Has exposed our weakness: more than health,
Our fall is certain when we lose sight of true wealth.

The wealth of belonging, love and trust
Which tells you how glorious is the dust,
For when sturdy rocks splinter, it remains
To say: "accursed fire burns weeds for grains! "