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The torrid Twenty Twenty,has cooked up its overs,
Bowling us all rough and tough,into falling wickets.
Umpires too fell,shaken by the grave,game norms.
Empty galleries,witnessed the wail of falling balls.
Will the fall of the foul game,forestall its ill victory?
A year worried all over,is a year lost in everyone's life.
Never did a year's most leaves wither while sprouting.
Never did the masked months,see the dates dithering.
Let the year in sight be a resurrection of buried might,
Emerging as sparks of hope,to restore our resilient trait.
The globe retreated from its onward march by a blight;
All that was lost,will be rebooted to reach a new height.
If social distance disappears,distant goals will be closer,
Helping society screen many great films,without a teaser.
P.Chandrasekaran.
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