Verses

It was subtle. 
I didn’t see any of it coming. 
Like the thin line between sunset and night. 
You see a beautiful purple horizon — you blink, 
take a deep breath then — 
darkness. 

I was in denial. 
‘How many more people die from poverty?’ 
‘This simply can’t be our next normality’ 
I didn’t care, 
‘I’m not going to let the mass media manipulate me in that way. 
I’m stronger than that’. 

I convinced myself. 

I lied to myself. 

On Monday there were fewer children in schools. 

On Tuesday vulnerable people were shielding in their homes. 

On Wednesday you could feel the fear in the air. 
This is what animals feel before a disaster it’s about to hit. 

By Thursday I was hidden away in a dusty cluttered cupboard 
trying as hard as I could not to cry. 
I failed. 

I found myself in a sea of despair. 
I found myself being held by a friend. 
She held me tightly to her bosom. 
I was four years old again and I cried. 
I cried for being alone, for pushing people away. 
‘Why do I keep isolating myself?’ 
‘Why did I abandon my family anyway?’ 

It’s been more than a decade now. 
If this virus was about to kill us all 
I wanted to die in my hometown, in my land, 
not in a far remote island, instead —with my clan. 

The eerie darkness and emptiness of 
an atypical Heathrow airport welcomed me 
Saturday night. 
There were no queues, 
no people in the pubs, 
only a handful yet empty shops. 

Some strained smiles behind face masks. 
‘Be safe’ I said to the guy as he gave me my passport back 
and with that I left the UK behind. 
After a twelve-hour flight 
fantasising how I’d embrace my brothers, 
when I finally saw them 
I greeted them with a timid ‘hi’.