The Summer of 2020
This isn't our regular summer.
The air is cleaner,
But it reeks of fear.
The sun's shining bright,
But clouds loom large.
The streets are empty,
And the doors are closed.
Loved ones are near,
But greetings are from afar.
This isn't our regular summer.
Locked down and isolated,
Is the whole world now.
Longing and belonging
Have new meanings somehow.
For a few, money is in the banks
But there's nowhere to shop.
For others, the next meal itself
Is relying on hope.
This isn't our regular summer.
Schools are closed
But lessons are being learnt.
In kindness and gratitude,
Selflessness and minimalism.
We're touching each other's lives,
Without touching each other.
We're learning about survival,
And making it through with little.
This isn't our regular summer.
The walking stick
I looked at him
But not into his eyes.
Didn't say a hello,
Nor waved a goodbye.
I thought for a brief moment
If I should stop and check
If he was doing alright
And if his supplies were being met.
But I feared the virus
I didn't want to take a risk.
And so, I just smiled
And left the words amiss.
He trudged along
With his sole friend.
The stick that supported
As he turned the bend.
His eyes seemed moist,
The world seemed cold.
I'm sure he wondered,
If the virus had eaten our souls.
For it had been a while
Since he had blessed a child,
Since he had shaken a hand
Or laughed out wild.
Voices seemed distant
Over the phone.
The house was empty
The heart felt lone.
The virus didn't kill.
The emptiness did.
The walks in the park
With only a walking stick.
Barkha Shah is a Bangalore-based freelance writer and digital marketing consultant. You can find some of her published work here - https://barkhashah.contently.com.