Gilda FLawan: What we never expected to live
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As contagion numbers arises, Hospital’s emergencies rooms collapses; once again panic and uncertainty rules our life. Finally people realize the issue’s measure once death tolls add a zero. Lockdown went serious too late, now only last to wait and see. First signs appears, they fear to tell and reach the hospital to never see the family again; yet they must, many don’t live by their own and drop the bomb: “I think I have some signs” as already parting from them. Unnoticed, dread reflects in their relative’s eyes, still unaware of that else monster growing within, one they must deal with on their own. World stands still while something
inside belonging to anyone but oneself is set to loose; time has come to struggle and endure. May many burn in fever, however hospitals are overwhelmed. A simple recipe is told by phone: “paracetamol each 8 hours, if turns worse then come to emergencies”. Fear never leaves, taking us,
fogging us; we cleave into little gadgets praying while four numbers rises. Heart rushes as it increases and panic whispers to your ear: “you are going to die”, lone catastrophic thoughts domain. Fe-
ver, ailment, sadness and more outnumbers any will to live and thrive; grief has overflown tarnishing the world.