Apr 2020
I hear sounds,
But I’m not a part of it.
Does listening count?
I’ve gotten to know it all bit by bit.
I see shades of spring,
Breeze still chilled.
Just a bit of warmth
The sun can fulfill.
Work hasn’t stopped
For those who’re hustling.
Come hail, shine or Covid,
Keep going, little tummies are rumbling.
Lockdown lifts,
Isolation ends.
We think we know it all,
From what heaven sends.
Little pink petals
Peel away from the source.
Lands on another’s yard,
This is nature’s course.
We grew many years,
We learned to share, serve and save,
Where nature will take us,
Depends on how we now behave.
But I’m not a part of it.
Does listening count?
I’ve gotten to know it all bit by bit.
I see shades of spring,
Breeze still chilled.
Just a bit of warmth
The sun can fulfill.
Work hasn’t stopped
For those who’re hustling.
Come hail, shine or Covid,
Keep going, little tummies are rumbling.
Lockdown lifts,
Isolation ends.
We think we know it all,
From what heaven sends.
Little pink petals
Peel away from the source.
Lands on another’s yard,
This is nature’s course.
We grew many years,
We learned to share, serve and save,
Where nature will take us,
Depends on how we now behave.
A quarantined mind is a creator's workshop. Just because there's a lockdown doesn't stop our minds from thinking, overthinking and dramatising a feeling. Here is my next Covid related poem, holding a few thoughts that crossed my mind over a cup of Roobois tea as I soaked in some sunshine to the sounds of a strong breeze and someone's constantly turned on lawn mower.
