Covid-19 (by Ismael Plet)
I can hear the cheers and laughter.
The salt taste of tears becomes sweet.
The pure, and cooling wind, swiftly passing their faces.
The day of replenishment is approaching.
Interaction and touch, locked in a wooden box.
Hearts drum the beats of fear.
The angels land softly, graciously.
They filter the still, contaminated waters.
Vacuum the dust and grey out of the air.
Sweep the lands from plastic and chemicals.
Replenish the earth with new energy and matter.
They are exhausted.
They take the world’s debris like a blanket,
travel back to the heavens,
And curl back to sleep.
The salt taste of tears becomes sweet.
The pure, and cooling wind, swiftly passing their faces.
The day of replenishment is approaching.
Interaction and touch, locked in a wooden box.
Hearts drum the beats of fear.
The angels land softly, graciously.
They filter the still, contaminated waters.
Vacuum the dust and grey out of the air.
Sweep the lands from plastic and chemicals.
Replenish the earth with new energy and matter.
They are exhausted.
They take the world’s debris like a blanket,
travel back to the heavens,
And curl back to sleep.
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