Death in the time of COVID-19
COVID-19 has impacted societies in many different ways. Rubana Islam’s poem considers those affected and questions what dying in the time of COVID means.
Raspy lungs and laboured breath
Are these my last ones?
There was a time when mum’s chicken soup
Would heal the sniffles and coughs
And shoo away the flu.
But not this time.
This time the virus is stronger than the sun’s ray
Experts say.
Not allowed to go to the mountains to wallow
Nor to go near the ocean to be swallowed
I am to be bounded in the four walls
Of a room that’s hollow
Where comes no man, no child, not even my soul
A mahogany cockroach is my only comrade
Molting, peering down at me, dreading
A prophet to the putrefaction impending.
Once I take my leave
How will you remember me?
A daughter who promised to make your old age more bearable
A girl with a weird laugh, snorts punctuating
A friend lending an ear to your existential crisis
A stranger who smiled at you across the street on a cloudy day
A hopeful girlfriend searching secrets in your piercing blue iris
The tenant who paid rent on time
Until the virus gnawed away her living
And burrowed a home of its own in her chest of clay.
When I succumb to the fight that breathing has become
Will you come to my funeral?
And say a eulogy in my name
Or will I be just a body virus laden
Untouchable?
Unclean?
Just another statistic in this pandemic.
My epitaph will read.