Niyi Osundare
I
People of the world
These are strange times
Strange, like a three-headed baby
The air hangs heavy with death and dread
COVID captives, we all,
Caged up in our trembling houses
Trading furtive whispers
About the Monster in the street
The wall’s painted ears
Are dull with our droning
The window’s clairvoyant glass refracts the horror
Of the silent terminator just beyond the lawn
The sofa has never suffered a burden so persistent
Endless days, idle hours, in creaking beds*:
The “COVID Generation” will hear someday later
The steamy story of their accidental coming
Our cockroach neighbours cannot just forgive
This sudden run on their pantry province
And the frightened stay-home tenants
Who now invade their ample kingdom
Prisoners we all
Peeping through the window of our trembling castles
Humless cars, wingless planes, sour moments
An invisible emperor commands the world
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