They document history,
In pages, stories,
In artefacts and monuments,
And in poetry.
For poetry is solidarity,
That feeds the human soul,
Coming as a solace in troubled times,
I wonder how’ll they document this apocalypse,
In free-verse or in rhyme,
Or perhaps they’ll leave the documentation online,
Like our lives.
The remnants of history,
Caught within data-bytes.
And so five poets came online,
To show their experience of this quarantine.
On the twentieth day of the lockdown,
They opened their minds,
And began to wonder what history would mine.
At the end of this line.
“Online Zoom Classes,” said one.
“It’s a new phenomenon,” agreed another.
“I suppose online therapy is fine,” added another, “we all need it in these troubled times.”
“Online therapy?”
“Oh yes. On WhatsApp video are shared the solutions to grief and to life,
For no one can conquer distance in this time.”
“Yet teachers do it, give us a sense of normalcy,
When they conduct classes over zoom or Skype,
Everyone complains of the mental toll that exams seek,
Yet no one applauds their tenacity.”
“I learnt things online,” added another.
“For one I experienced love and cooking through a screen,
When my mother sent me a picture of Thai Curry,
She had learnt from a YouTube channel,
Yet seeing it made me feel like I was home,
instead of all alone.”
“I met my best friend across cities again,
Seeing her hale and heart was a relief,
In this time of pandemic.”
“I read a few new books online,” said one,
“Feeding the marrows of my mind.”
“I made love through a screen,” added another.
“To myself and another,
Treating my skin to some care,
A glow-up for my face and hair.”
“I caught up on series,
Netflix and solo-chill!”
“And we all created poetry…”
“That’s how we made it through,
This quarantine.”
