Poem about pandemic

What would survival means if each and every one of us won’t be able to last because we are feeble. 

Don’t you read Harari and his stories about stories that we are the only animals managed to climb to the top of the chain but we are also susceptible to extinction for the exact same reason.

It may not be dystopia. Yet the plague is real and your obsessive compulsive hoarding behavior makes the black mirror fast forward by a decade. Yet you’re in a denial and you don’t think that anything is real because you want to cling to normality. And because you think those people you see on tv aren’t real people like yourself.

Plausible ignorance is no longer an excuse because we all wonder if tomorrow we can still do the things we do today.

Your sense of control is a fantasy. Your freedom is never your freedom. That small patch of land you proudly nurture will be seized and you there’s nothing you can do about it.