The paths we use to toil, walk freely.
going in, going out from the house to the place of our labour, now frawns it's beautiful face.
The paths we use to toil, walk freely.
going in, going out from the house to the place of our labour, now frawns it's beautiful face.
The gathering at night, now feels lonely, without an embrace of our dining, rib cracking Jokes that is accompanied with lots of laughter.
The flying air are no longer fresh, contaminated with the fear of that which weakens the veins that carries our muscles.
Our doors are not closed, neither is our gates locked, yet our tireless leg can't move an inch, isn't this a seige? something the governments calls lockdown.
I never knew there is a feeling that lives in-between my dark rugged skin, this feeling kills the happiness that was once flowing like a Brooke in our many hearts, as this feeling shouts us unwanted.
Staying at home now feels like an arrested culprit found guilt, sent behind bars without a chance for defence.
We now only sleep, waking, with our hand trembling with many needs we can't even solve, as our shops, with our place of earning has closed their eyes of favour against us.
I miss shoping at the mall, eating fresh fruits, seeing people smile, seeing their camera shutter their various post, my
stocks are crying for like minds, so are the stocks of the retailers.
We have been arrested, detained, forcefully kept at home by a syndicate covid19.
We are home arrested by the conditions that even the best brains are in dissaray to fix, as our minds have been redirected, channeled to a part we didn't seek, as it has taught us to be loyal, grateful and to appreciate Life's simple pleasures.
Home arrest indeed we are, yet better humans we daily conform to, knowing the know we didn't know on before now.
