Dear Mr. Corona Virus,

As the nib meets the paper,
My hand trembles.
All in readiness to notify you:
“You do not belong here!”

I have watched you from afar
As you turn smiles into mourns,
Secretly snatching the bravery out of gallant men,
Violently exchanging some sweet moments with families for sours;

Men are remorsefully saying goodbye when they need to say welcome.

Distance is chewing unto the sweet taste of love,
And intentionally spitting out bitter breakouts

The hands are not allowed to depict the tenderness of the heart
for the sick.
The streets have turned owners of themselves.
Innocent men are like the buffalo soldiers,
But taken away from their families to be friends of wall;
All because of your symptoms

Defiantly you are here now,
Doing exactly what you know best:
Charging the air with your colossus presence,
And trying to pressure out the fearlessness from our hearts.

You have closed the doors of our worship places,
But not on our hearts.
The dust of our dry lips will float in our closets;
The tears in our eyes won’t dry until our prayers are answered.

I won’t waste the aim of my clock
Just to tell you how resilient we are.
I won’t tell you
That we will squeeze the jelly out of your deceitful eyes

I won’t tell you about our calls unto a just mightier man,
That is summarizing our hurts from you.
As we walk through your hours,
I won’t tell you about our prayers for your banishment.

© ISAAC T. TAMBA