The noisy streets , once permeated by commuters
Are now as still as the rarely trodden graveyards.
The thundering sound once made by the zestful riders
Is now a complete stranger to the empty boulevards.
The classroom that once rejoiced
Along with the frisky butterflies,
Now seems desolate and wretched ,
Mourning constantly , hiding her tears.
The markets hosting a plethora of vendors
Now sigh, gazing at the shut doors of the stalls
The parks once enlivened by the jolly songs of the toddlers
Now await eagerly the visitors' strolls.