I am told to keep things in perspective,
as sounds of early traffic are replaced
by dead silence.
Coffee waters this town, a million cups filled
then dropped,
as people stay home– reading books, brushing up on skills
despite the horror,
a situation which seems never-ending, glued to television.
I greet the day,
listening as white-heaven bound birds continue to grace me
with their presence,
and look out the window to see cassia trees sway boldly
in the wind–
I wash the dishes and mop the floor,
write poems
as I sip another concluded day and rest my head on a pillow.
Strike me with your words full of warmth,
your eyes unremitting in their viridian desire
and hope;
strike my ruby lips with your own,
until the bedlam stops: until the bedlam stops.
Photo credits: Pinterest
Skylover Wordlist: Strike 💝
Posted for Weekly Scribblings @ Poets and Storytellers United
Yes, it’s a strange kind of madness. There is indeed horror out there, with so many deaths, and yet in our isolated homes life seems so non-eventful. Thank goodness for trees through the window, reading, TV, and coffee!
Thank you so much, Rosemary 😀 so glad the poem resonated with you 💄❤️
I agree with Rosemary, Sanaa, it’s a strange kind of madness, one we’ve never had to deal with before. We are all familiar with the silence, but out here in the countryside, although less frequent, I still hear tractors. Like me, you relieve the monotony with a view outside the window of trees and birds. The ending of your poem is full of longing and passion.
Thank you so much, Kim 😀 so glad you liked it 💄❤️
The quiet is hard to those used to a world filled with hustle and bustle. I don’t know when it all will truly end (or even when the first attempts at recovery will happen and how those will look) but someday it will.
Hopefully! 🙂 Thanks for stopping by, Rommy 💄❤️
Its like you went to sleep and is still dreaming, I pinch myself every now and then
Happy creative Wednesday Sanaa
much love…
Thank you so much, Gillena 🙂 so good to see you 💄❤️
much love …
Life has become a communal nightmare with instances of routine (and even delights) thrown between the terrors. It is good to keep the good in mind, to remember what is now gone (even if temporarily), to focus as much time as we can on the faces that brew smiles out of our hearts, and the voices that remain clear to us (even during the bedlam).
I really like this one, Sanaa.
Thank you so much, Magaly 😀 I am glad to know that the words spoke to you and agree that it is good to keep the good in mind 💄❤️
The madness continues, but it will end…The mantra I keep saying to myself. Love your poem. It describes the pandemic lifestyle we are living with poetic beauty.
Thank you so much, Susie 😀 so glad you liked it 💄❤️
We are lucky as writers Sanaa to be able to enter our own worlds in our imaginations and be creative to relieve us of the stress.
Thank you so much, Robin 🙂 so glad the poem resonated with you 💄❤️
In spite of it all, your poem lifted my spirits and no doubt those of anyone reading it.
Thank you so much, Helen 😀 so glad you liked it 💄❤️
…until the bedlam stops. Oh bring us the day!
Definitely 🙂 thanks for stopping by, Ron 💄❤️
Your poem says to me that tenderness can still—and must—happen in a time of plague. Sweet, life-giving, life-saving tenderness.
Thank you so much, MMT 😀 so glad the poem resonated with you 💄❤️
A wonderful piece of prose writing … relatable, authentic and eloquently penned. Great job on this, Sanaa!
Thank you so much, Wendy 😀 so glad you enjoyed it 💄❤️
Silence and bedlam. A daily juxtaposition perhaps? There is hope and there will be an end. Be of good cheer!
Absolutely 🙂 thanks for stopping by, Joel 💄❤️
Wonderful thoughts, Sanaa! Coffee, books, writing. You make staying inside sound warm and cozy.
Thank you so much, Sara 😀 so glad you liked it 💄❤️