You’re locked down by the virulent Corona-19 virus, confined between four walls of fear and boredom. You’re edgy, tight as the strings of an Indian Sitar. Frustration pounds and throbs; it’s the tic-a-tack-tack of the tabla drumlets, the migraine throb of the African voodoo drums and the din of the orchestra’s kettle drums booming and booming in your head. It’s not going away. When is the nausea finished, destroyed, gone? When?
Open a window. Peep through the door. The sky is blue, the clouds are white. The earth is wet with rain, green with grass dotted with autumnal flowers, yellow, blue and red. They are soothing colours for the soul. There is life out there; the future will come. But what must I do to spark light for the present?








