A pandemic meets an old man on the road.

Who is this who is not afraid of me? It asks.

You must be religious, I believe.

Which of the gods do you worship?

I am not religious, the old man replies,

I must go about my business.

You must be immune, then, the pandemic says,

or perhaps you have found a cure?

I really don’t care, the old man groans,

my business is urgent, I must go.

Then surely, you are foolish, the pandemic retorts.

Have you not heard the reports?

I am hunger, the old man began,

I’ve been here since the world began.

Wars and diseases, they come and they go.

None has lived as long as I have.

You burn at both ends; your end is near.

I burn slow like fine firewood.

Keep them indoors and fill them with fright,

but when I knock, they come right out.

Your reputation precedes you, the pandemic responds

and bows before the old man.

They kiss, hug and shake hands like old friends and

smile knowingly at each other.

The old man takes his leave and continues his routine—

knocking on doors and turning knobs.

Source: From the Isolation Issue (September 2020)

Once this is over,

I shall run into the arms of each morning

and take in the deepest breath.

My eyes will make friends with birds and flowers

and cars and buildings and clothes.

I will fill my nostrils with the boisterous

smell of bread from the bakeries

in Bavaria.

My teeth will shine brightly at everyone

who looks my way.

I will wave frantically at strangers.

I will give the warmest handshake anyone

has ever known.

My skin will hug the rays of the sun.

When the cold winds come,

it will not complain.

I will dance Bata with the rain. 

I will make the night sky my ceiling

and swim with the moon and the stars.

Once the iron gates are open,

Once these walls are broken,

I will be free again.

I will walk the streets like a

proud king.

 Once this is over,

You will see a new me.

Source: From the Isolation Issue (September 2020)