These are silent times. The streets are buzzing with stillness
The graveness of death.
The soldiers are flogging our dreams in broad day light.
The food wasting in the gutters.
These are silent times, the ticking away of darkness to more darkness
Arrest my dreams by more lightness Love.
The light in words will be the calm in my soul.
Homes are carrying the burden of silence that the sickness pass us by.
Like the plague of the ancient.
In this muse, the poets bow write, sink, cower, pray
The Easter bunny is bloodied and dried.
Whoever broke these eggs too early?
The streets are hungry for warmth, for news.
For succor, for oil
The lockdown isolates our hearts for a distant journey
We would embrace this later.
And tell the story with stammering lips, with brokenness all over,
Fingers swollen with stories, with shaking fingers
We will bear the stories like burdens and pick the reins from wherever.
Then run with wild tracks, lane with no finish point in sight.
We are here, the streets ache with untold woe.
I will be the one to write if the headache lets me- if the race becomes lighter with time.
Selah, Selah.

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Niffy April 15, 2020 at 10:30 am

Very apt

Debby Keys April 17, 2020 at 11:16 pm

Thank you 🥰

Shuaib Ayobamidele April 15, 2020 at 10:53 am

Very good one. I love it!

Debby Keys April 17, 2020 at 11:17 pm

Thank you. I’m glad you do!🙌


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