A wake and a memorial
then a burial too.
Waking up to a dirge,
A painful stab
that has made us all numb.
Numb to its toxic existence,
Turning a dirge into my favourite melody.
Prisoners of the virus,
Shackled to a dirge,
The mask is my uniform,
Quarantine is my routine.
I’m shackled to a dirge,
Seeing her heat up to sleep,
The migraine didn’t stop,
I saw her cough to death,
And I all I could, is cry out my dirge.
For when she was to lay to rest,
They came in full disinfectant gear,
Sprayed out her toxicity of the virus,
Scary as it seemed,
the little ones were frightened too.
“From soil she came,Back to the soil she went…”
Shackled to a dirge,
The virus took the woman i love,
Left only with the love of my pen,
I write my infinite dirge.
This is Bard Mwendwa’s Poem. Click on the provided names below to view other Notable’s content
Lucky’s Poem
Gracie’s Poem
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