A heap of restaurant chairs
weighed down the old red Chevy truck
criss-crossed by a nonsense of bungee cords

What a heap of sadness
weighing the workers down
criss-crossing each other in masked silence

The sad eyes of the restauranteurs
as the weighed down truck pulls away
with their hopes and dreams, silently

Eyes resisting tears
pulling at all the strength they may have left
hoping their home isn't next

It's a tearful Christmas despite all the good cheer
leaving behind hopes and dreams in a viral haze
it's hope that makes a home; money, only a house

In your heart,
can you sit with the grieving,
see what they are feeling,
and grow some compassion?

Tears from a stranger,
a mother’s exhaustion,
wearing the body language
of those who’ve been broken.

No hugs allowed,
no warm faces to comfort,
no one to hold,
no matter how much we want it.

In your mind can you comprehend
what all this pain is doing to them.

A piece
of a ouija board
sits in the Los Angeles River
as the inky crows squawk nearby

I pace
along this polluted trickle
of a river
as the crows flutter by

Apace
a runner darts near
without his mask
I shudder

Ashes
ashes
we all
fall down

Drugs flooded through the cities and streets,
Homelessness is all over and through the streets,
The struggle getting real hectic,
The struggle is taking over but let's end it,
The pandemic is taking over the lives of our people,
Our brothers and our sisters,
This pandemic is our biggest killer.

This can't be it for us,
In God we must trust don't let the devil win,
The devil comes to **** and destroy,
The poisonous venom will **** the life outta you,
The strength of prayer will keep us safe.

Darkness speaks a volume
In a tone,
That fumes my blood,
nurturing my energy
with the rhythm,
that's now, a song.
A tongue of voices
hovering to the tune
picking up the pitch,
that almost hinders the ruin.
A stigma touch
lost in the delusional vibes
with cries of glory
praising the lives.
A hit pandemic carcass
Brews with a story
We all know about...


©Seema Sen, 2020

Although, I’m mindful of the President’s tweets
and the pundits’ chatter;
And, while I keep up with the world news that matters;
Amid the pandemic, the politics, and the police brutality;
I often settle my spirit on . . . poetry.

I take some time.
I free my mind.
S l o w l y, I sip from a glass of smooth merlot wine.  
I relax,
I kickback,
and I ride the rhythm of the rhymes.

Because after a bit,
the constant “Breaking News,”
the quarantine,
the vanishing Lysol disinfectant spray amid covid19,
the social-distancing,
the quest for a vaccine,
the protest rallies,
the unsettling maskless scenes,
and the viewing of America’s racial unrest,
just invites unwanted and needless mental stress.

So, during these anxious days of shelter in place,
I retreat to a quiet and pleasing space,
where literature calms all worries within.
I find a book. Take a sip.
And, I warmly welcome fiction like a cherished friend.