thoughts on quarantine
By Steve Kusuma
An ostensibly strange fever dream
Filled with sensibly angled companies, hearts dangling at the seam,
Or blue-blooded celebrities preaching messages of relatability,
Breams turning the result of human fallibility, into maximum profitability.
Perhaps it’s the perennial contrast of opinions,
Yelling that we’re all ultimately minions, pawns to ones with billions,
For following government jurisdiction,
To fight against the system,
Against those whose eyes glisten,
To further their unconditional mission,
That we are all sheeple.
So that’s right, pop off that mask, go on a run,
Have some fun, maybe a haircut too, hun.
Or maybe its the go-getters,
The lets-fretters, goal-setters,
Saying YES! Let’s all achieve lots and it’ll be all better,
Learn a new language, start a side job,
Maybe add another to your collection of old fobs.
Onto other issues, ones of fervent misuse,
and of relentless abuse, with a pestiferous hue,
Of police power, crooked justice like an shower, sour acts that need to be shown louder.
Floyd George, a cruel death by the porg, leading to fighting disgorge.
Oh lord, wait your swords, quit the horde,
What happened to the virus,
Did it just up’n right its bruise?
Hold your horses, don’t start a ruse!
Now quit the rhyme scheme, take a look at the bigger scene.
What about the rest of the world, not just the first.
Where one isn’t a rare amount to live on.
Where people struggle on the day by day.
Where quarantine is an impossible luxury.
What about them?
Maybe this is all just part of a self-ending prophecy,
We are doomed to consume ourselves, already too self-consumed to help the meek.
People pointing fingers, at me and everyone,
But there is light somewhere in this tunnel,
Blooming in the tiniest cracks, where life finds a way,
From the most basic of roots, grass, people helping people.
Community efforts, charities, pea to patridge.
They are the key. However, that alone is not enough.
They need you.
About the author:
Steve Kusuma is currently physically located in Jakarta, Indonesia. He has always had a thing for rhyming. Every word not audibly corresponding with another in an ABAB structure is one that has not reached its full potential. His passion for rhyming eventually led him to his thirst for change, rooted within the deep-seated origins of spoken word. Now, he combines both passions in an effort to speak up and break-unfair-boundaries.