life in Quarantine

It's really honorable to me that my poems on covid calamity are selected by Stanford University, USA.

My name would remain in the archive of library of Stanford University.

Glory to me, and I am thankful to almighty

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Search Preface : Here are words and lines by me ; DR Pragya suman, doctor and author from India wants to introduce the background of my creativity craft which came in a tiny poetry collection “ COVID CUBE “. Beside getting face to face the tormentic condition of pandemic in my medical profession , I also scanned the scathing acts of society, corruption which spiked during these calamities. I also got infected at my working place and for a considerable period I lived in home quarantine , apart from my family members and six year daughter. It came like a self exploration phase and in stark silence I felt words dropping down and I collected them in various genres of poetry. I wrote in verse, prose poem, visual poetry, minimalist poetry and concrete poetry. “ COVID CUBE “ is poetic documentation of my pandemic past peregrination. I wrote ten poems of multigenre, out if six are in word form and rest four are visual poetry. Covid Cube ( 1 ) Corona’s language The language spoken in the lab Descended down Upon the erected mango leaves Of my fathers’s orchard Coagulated there in protein shuttle Corona hided heaped up in trans dictionary And that day like almond seed scattered sharded Out of pickled jar I saw the letters got alienated As every people in this pandemic Letters liberated out of language And stacked like draughtsman coin Upon my auricle. I am still awaiting let it in Hear the voice of lord. I decipher dear…!

( 2 )The Pandemic letter The letters of my little Littered in Crayons colours Are realistic She put daily at doorstep Of my quarantine room Begin to fly like surreal– And tinkles– Dissecting the deafening silence.

( 3 ) Sisyphus would Smile The bacilli of Algerian Oran laid in oblivion of ocean has come in another way_ Trite of absurdism has gone in a meandering vicious ray. But now this covid 19 is spluttering– the stone of the staggering silly Sisyphus Bacilli beaches are basking in naked beauty of comely ” Camus “ I know Sisyphus would smile again. ( 4 ) The Hollow Cup The guests are standing in yard holding a hollow cup. I am in with a coffee sachet. A saturnine setting– plundering the planet. The virus breaks its curse locked in the plasma. ( 5 ) Coins of Corona The parturient land and wrinkled hand smeared in sweat, takes one year to make mounds of lentils, veggies, rice and wheats, the democratic demons engulf in mere one gulp because they are balking in glory of an eagle emperor. The food given to medic servants shrivels in one fist, though they are in mountains on government paper . One Day I saw a lot of crows are appointed as admins in this dungeon, because they have developed eerie entrails with a silencer ! I read in biology book crows engulf without chewing, but crows of my country belch in a magical wand, so they don’t even make a sound . Chewing makes sound so they are silent engulfer not chewer. Nowadays their nests are teeming in coins of corona. ( 6 ) I am covid positive The dark hole was pale in self isolation and my virtual world got banished in a virus cube. Nowadays I live there and yes I sometimes rove my eyes left and right as vitreous fluid is stagnant in muddy iris. Night descends upon curved eyelids and I have for one month seen stars scuttering like skylarks here. You know I am insomniac now and so I am a watcher in the playground. Being an audience to self makes a blue prism. The cold castle , though I am still pink there as autumn is my favorite . My fragile fingers stop between platter and mouth as they tuck in tremor. I am hungry now though my fridge is stuffed. One day it happened two stars clogged in my dark hole and i saw a shriveled women was sitting in one dimension with wrapped face in pestle white towel. Virus slept on my medic palms and i am covid positive now. Dr Pragya Suman is a doctor by profession and an award winning author from India. She is posted now as Senior Resident in Shri krishna Medical College, Muzaffarpur, Bihar, India. Writing is her passion which she inherited from her father. She also writes short stories and reviews which have been published in many magazines and anthologies. Surrealism, prose poetry, and free verse are her favourite genres. Recently she won the Gideon poetry award for her debut book Lost Mother . Dr Pragya Suman is Editor in Chief, Arc Magazine, India.You can follow Dr Pragya on Twitter, Instagram and Facebook!I want to share my creative writing! Take me back to the Writing Gallery! Facebook-f Twitter Instagram Life in Quarantine: Witnessing Global Pandemic is an initiative sponsored by the Poetic Media Lab and the Center for Spatial and Textual Analysis at Stanford University.Our Sponsors and Partners Previous Next Find Us! Center for Spatial and Textual Analysis (CESTA), Stanford University Address: 4th floor, Wallenberg Hall (bldg. 160) 450 Jane Stanford Way Stanford, CA 94305 Stanford Mail Code: 2055

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• About Us

• Submit Your Story

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Search Preface : Here are words and lines by me ; Dr pragya suman, doctor and author from India wants to introduce the background of my creativity craft which came in a tiny poetry collection “ COVID CUBE “. Beside getting face to face the tormentic condition of pandemic in my medical profession , I also scanned the scathing acts of society, corruption which spiked during these calamities. I also got infected at my working place and for a considerable period I lived in home quarantine , apart from my family members and six year daughter. It came like a self exploration phase and in stark silence I felt words dropping down and I collected them in various genres of poetry. I wrote in verse, prose poem, visual poetry, minimalist poetry and concrete poetry. “ COVID CUBE “ is poetic documentation of my pandemic past peregrination. I wrote ten poems of multigenre, out if six are in word form and rest four are visual poetry. Covid Cube Share on facebook Share on twitter Share on linkedin Share on whatsapp Share on reddit ( 1 ) Corona’s language The language spoken in the lab Descended down Upon the erected mango leaves Of my fathers’s orchard Coagulated there in protein shuttle Corona hided heaped up in trans dictionary And that day like almond seed scattered sharded Out of pickled jar I saw the letters got alienated As every people in this pandemic Letters liberated out of language And stacked like draughtsman coin Upon my auricle. I am still awaiting let it in Hear the voice of lord. I decipher dear…! ( 2 )The Pandemic letter The letters of my little Littered in Crayons colours Are realistic She put daily at doorstep Of my quarantine room Begin to fly like surreal– And tinkles– Dissecting the deafening silence. ( 3 ) Sisyphus would Smile The bacilli of Algerian Oran laid in oblivion of ocean has come in another way_ Trite of absurdism has gone in a meandering vicious ray. But now this covid 19 is spluttering– the stone of the staggering silly Sisyphus Bacilli beaches are basking in naked beauty of comely ” Camus “ I know Sisyphus would smile again. ( 4 ) The Hollow Cup The guests are standing in yard holding a hollow cup. I am in with a coffee sachet. A saturnine setting– plundering the planet. The virus breaks its curse locked in the plasma. ( 5 ) Coins of Corona The parturient land and wrinkled hand smeared in sweat, takes one year to make mounds of lentils, veggies, rice and wheats, the democratic demons engulf in mere one gulp because they are balking in glory of an eagle emperor. The food given to medic servants shrivels in one fist, though they are in mountains on government paper . One Day I saw a lot of crows are appointed as admins in this dungeon, because they have developed eerie entrails with a silencer ! I read in biology book crows engulf without chewing, but crows of my country belch in a magical wand, so they don’t even make a sound . Chewing makes sound so they are silent engulfer not chewer. Nowadays their nests are teeming in coins of corona. ( 6 ) I am covid positive The dark hole was pale in self isolation and my virtual world got banished in a virus cube. Nowadays I live there and yes I sometimes rove my eyes left and right as vitreous fluid is stagnant in muddy iris. Night descends upon curved eyelids and I have for one month seen stars scuttering like skylarks here. You know I am insomniac now and so I am a watcher in the playground. Being an audience to self makes a blue prism. The cold castle , though I am still pink there as autumn is my favorite . My fragile fingers stop between platter and mouth as they tuck in tremor. I am hungry now though my fridge is stuffed. One day it happened two stars clogged in my dark hole and i saw a shriveled women was sitting in one dimension with wrapped face in pestle white towel. Virus slept on my medic palms and i am covid positive now. Dr Pragya Suman is a doctor by profession and an award winning author from India. She is posted now as Senior Resident in Shri krishna Medical College, Muzaffarpur, Bihar, India. Writing is her passion which she inherited from her father. She also writes short stories and reviews which have been published in many magazines and anthologies. Surrealism, prose poetry, and free verse are her favourite genres. Recently she won the Gideon poetry award for her debut book Lost Mother . Dr Pragya Suman is Editor in Chief, Arc Magazine, India.You can follow Dr Pragya on Twitter, Instagram and Facebook!I want to share my creative writing! Take me back to the Writing Gallery! Facebook-f Twitter Instagram Life in Quarantine: Witnessing Global Pandemic is an initiative sponsored by the Poetic Media Lab and the Center for Spatial and Textual Analysis at Stanford University.Our Sponsors and Partners Previous Next Find Us! Center for Spatial and Textual Analysis (CESTA), Stanford University Address: 4th floor, Wallenberg Hall (bldg. 160) 450 Jane Stanford Way Stanford, CA 94305 Stanford Mail Code: 2055