Now

Where will the summer winds play in the future
Every field will have no trees with leaves.
Everywhere we look at the masked faces,
And we will find no one to believe.

The real tragedy is that the next person,
Is suspected to be a transmitter.
And the next person not recovered,
No matter how much she glitters.

The visitor stops a yard away
From the half opened door,
A gloved hand emerges to take the gift,
Reaching out for a sprayer to disinfect the floor..

The television churns out the rising figures,
The vaccines do not change the affected scores,
Medicines change like a weathercock,
Closed, still closed remain the doors.

Photographs adorn the shelves anew,
Of relatives gone as have friends,
The dreams evaporate as soon as they form,
The memories are always beyond the bend.

We tell ourselves and our children,
Hang on, we will get through this,
But knowing all the time,
That some will really go, and some will be missed.

Why us, we say, why us we scream,
Where did we go wrong?
Why do we now feel so weak,
We have forgotten to be strong.

And we believe with fear and sweat,
That the near future will bring relief,
When we know in our deepest hearts,
That even the respites will be brief.