Across the dire strait,
The conch harbingered
A dirge of ominous fate
For high stakes of life wagered.
Like the medieval vampires in disguise
Were the viruses leeching and looming as large
As the rumor-chasing paparazzi's red eyes
Sanguinary for anything sensually arousing to enlarge.
The infected air breathed those dead and alive–
Inhaling hopes and exhaling fears to thrive.
The knights in white robes vowed to slay the invisible monster.
Alas! Bury those sacrificed with the eulogy of the preacher!
On the Shakespearean stage of recurring, tragic pathos
Did SARS faithfully choreograph Plague's lost art of chaos–
Bygones shall never be a prequel to an assuring, truce-calling end
But a sequel to the universal despair we all try hard to transcend.
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P.S.
May those people, be they our friends or merely strangers, rest in peace.
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