Sunshine will not kill
the virus
as we assumed it will.
So we wait,
with impatience,
swiping away
this sordid species
from our skin,
while borders, that
secure our smiles
and sighs
from others
catch our spittle.
Yet our eyes,
still open windows,
see the sting of the selfish,
and sympathize
with the cautious,
and try to segregate
the misinforming
from the trustworthy souls.
So now we’re stuck
and disconcerted—
unsure of the subsequent,
because sunshine will not kill the virus.
Our struggle still not severed,
It’s ensuing,
sealing
the misery of the world,
spreading its sin,
shooting lethal stones
mercilessly down to the earth,
like an everlasting meteor shower
through a cold storm.
Sunshine sooths,
stops sorrow,
and ends stormy nights.
Still the sun is no pacifist
As it births cancerand destroys
Innocent bodies
Instead of disease.
Now sunshine disappoints again,
unstanding by our side.
And sits as an incurious star,
Its blazing rays supplying light
with no solace.
The ship keeps sailing on,
as passengers study the sparrow
in the psalm,
seeking shelter
in a place
where sunshine once again
shimmers.
And we call a truce,
make peace with the past— and the sun.