The things we lost in the fire

A country reveals its true self
its infection examined with eagle eyes
in a time of crisis.
Its invisible citizens
pained and poverty-stricken
suddenly coming to the fore.

Swiftly, it weaponises what we previously knew as forms of love and intimacy:
Consensual coitus, hugging, kissing, time together.
Shaking hands, walking hand-in-hand
no longer a favourable form of greeting or affection.
Elbow bumps become the new Namaste,
Salaam,
Sawubona.

A moment for the martyrs
who fought and are fighting against an invisible enemy
like Kamikaze pilots
prepared to die for the people
and a country at war
with itself.

Low-wage workers become emergency employees overnight;
like tree roots coming to the surface.
The government hashtags #StayHomeStaySafe
when behind closed doors
it's a warzone.

Somewhere someone is stigmatised
house now full, nowhere to hide
the pills that keep him alive.
Please don't stop taking your meds! 

Self-isolation.
Quarantine.
Lockdown.
Like us, the rich too become caged birds.
A fleeting moment of confinement.
(We were caged birds without wings long before this crisis.)

The God of Small Things come to remind us of what we took for granted.

The

distance

between

us

an

act

of

love.

Will I even see you later?
(You set my heart on fire!)

 

Ashraf Booley is a freelance content marketing professional, poet, and budding entrepreneur. He loves to cook (and eat out) and his poetry has been published locally and internationally, appearing in the likes of New Contrast, New Coin, LitNet, Aerodrome, Botsotso, Badilisha Poetry X-Change, Word n Sound, and Poetry Potion. He's a 2018 Mandela Washington Fellow and chapter president of Impulse Group Cape Town, which forms part of a global social movement that focuses on the queer community's sexual and mental wellbeing, consisting of 25 chapters around the world.