Keane to Write
A Different Pandemic || Original Poem
We worry about illness,
About pandemics and disease.
We worry about death,
About catching what others have.
But we are already sick.
We worry about germs,
About cleanliness and hygiene.
We worry about infection,
About disability and injury.
But we are already infected.
I saw with my owns eyes.
I saw humans living in their filth.
I saw naked children running through infested waters.
I saw the 1metre by 2metre tin sheds they slept in.
I smelt the smells and heard the sounds.
I saw the hopelessness.
I saw the pain and suffering.
I saw the father spending all day trying to sell something
just to be able to feed his family that night.
I saw the woman selling her body to keep her children alive.
…
I saw the mansions sitting on the hills
surrounding the sea of tin sheds.
Those mansions.
Those big, warm, dry mansions.
Those tall, noble, handsome mansions.
I also saw their sick inhabitants.
Their infected inhabitants.
I saw the rats run past my feet.
I sat on the wood and thin piece of cloth they try to find rest on.
I saw the disease.
I saw the dead in the street.
I saw the never-ending cycle....
And yet here we are.
Sitting in our heated, brick houses with electricity.
With phones in our hands.
With an education.
With food.
Clean running water.
Here we are sitting in our homes
No fear of a stranger bursting in.
No fear of the rapist waiting.
No fear of the murderer lurking.
No fear of the thief sneaking.
We sit here in our glutton
In our pride
In our greed.
The world is suffering from a different pandemic.
This pandemic has always been there.
It sweeps across the nations,
Picking the lucky ones.
The infection first attacks the eyes.
They slowly become blind.
They begin to only see what is put in front of them.
What is hand fed to them.
It then changes their sense of taste.
They consume the first thing put in front of them.
They no longer crave for deeper flavours.
They begin to starve.
Their sense of hearing goes next.
They use the hearing aids given to them.
Only listening through the filters.
Now their heart begins to fail.
It doesn’t beat like it’s supposed to.
It doesn’t beat the right rhythm.
After their heart goes, its then their sense of touch.
They no longer feel.
No longer feel sadness.
No longer feel grief.
No longer feel sympathy.
No longer feel conviction.
No longer feel anger towards injustice.
They don’t see them anymore.
They don’t see their naked, inhumane, raw, Human flesh.
They don’t have a taste for justice anymore.
They don’t have a taste for humanity anymore.
They don’t hear their desperate screams of plea.
They don’t hear their dying voices.
Their heart no longer beats for them.
Their heart now beats for themselves.
They no longer feel the pain of the suffering.
They no longer feel the grief of the hopeless.
They no longer feel.
They are no longer human.
We are no longer human.
We are sick.
We are infected by a pandemic.
And a needle won’t stop this one.
__
Instagram: keane_to_write
Music credit: Ilya Kuznetsov
*Copyright ownership: Keane to Write*
We worry about illness,
About pandemics and disease.
We worry about death,
About catching what others have.
But we are already sick.
We worry about germs,
About cleanliness and hygiene.
We worry about infection,
About disability and injury.
But we are already infected.
I saw with my owns eyes.
I saw humans living in their filth.
I saw naked children running through infested waters.
I saw the 1metre by 2metre tin sheds they slept in.
I smelt the smells and heard the sounds.
I saw the hopelessness.
I saw the pain and suffering.
I saw the father spending all day trying to sell something
just to be able to feed his family that night.
I saw the woman selling her body to keep her children alive.
…
I saw the mansions sitting on the hills
surrounding the sea of tin sheds.
Those mansions.
Those big, warm, dry mansions.
Those tall, noble, handsome mansions.
I also saw their sick inhabitants.
Their infected inhabitants.
I saw the rats run past my feet.
I sat on the wood and thin piece of cloth they try to find rest on.
I saw the disease.
I saw the dead in the street.
I saw the never-ending cycle....
And yet here we are.
Sitting in our heated, brick houses with electricity.
With phones in our hands.
With an education.
With food.
Clean running water.
Here we are sitting in our homes
No fear of a stranger bursting in.
No fear of the rapist waiting.
No fear of the murderer lurking.
No fear of the thief sneaking.
We sit here in our glutton
In our pride
In our greed.
The world is suffering from a different pandemic.
This pandemic has always been there.
It sweeps across the nations,
Picking the lucky ones.
The infection first attacks the eyes.
They slowly become blind.
They begin to only see what is put in front of them.
What is hand fed to them.
It then changes their sense of taste.
They consume the first thing put in front of them.
They no longer crave for deeper flavours.
They begin to starve.
Their sense of hearing goes next.
They use the hearing aids given to them.
Only listening through the filters.
Now their heart begins to fail.
It doesn’t beat like it’s supposed to.
It doesn’t beat the right rhythm.
After their heart goes, its then their sense of touch.
They no longer feel.
No longer feel sadness.
No longer feel grief.
No longer feel sympathy.
No longer feel conviction.
No longer feel anger towards injustice.
They don’t see them anymore.
They don’t see their naked, inhumane, raw, Human flesh.
They don’t have a taste for justice anymore.
They don’t have a taste for humanity anymore.
They don’t hear their desperate screams of plea.
They don’t hear their dying voices.
Their heart no longer beats for them.
Their heart now beats for themselves.
They no longer feel the pain of the suffering.
They no longer feel the grief of the hopeless.
They no longer feel.
They are no longer human.
We are no longer human.
We are sick.
We are infected by a pandemic.
And a needle won’t stop this one.
__
Instagram: keane_to_write
Music credit: Ilya Kuznetsov
*Copyright ownership: Keane to Write*