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Author: Ashkum Ashwick

So the annals of history recorded: “A great scourge befell on humanity, stunning it into silence, freezing its random motions, emptying its busy thoroughfares, its bazaars, its temples, sucking our vital life from its souls.

Playgrounds where children once frolicked in mirth now resemble Roman ruins. Megalopolises where people recently bustled now lay bare. Eyes that ought to have joy became ridden with anxiety. Man got cut off from Man, nay, even became the enemy of Man, besotted with a germ that poisoned the air that we inhaled every breath became deliberate, laborious, and laden with caution for it could be one of the last.

The “spirit” in “respiration” barely blew life into soulless bodies. Human touch became a rarity, vigorous handshakes, bear hugs, back pats, a thing of the past. Devoid of life-enabling touch, social man-animals roamed like solitary cats. Was it the will of gods, or just a curse brought upon Man by Man?

This is the dilemma that confronts us–weakening human resolve, punishing our feeble minds with self-doubt. “Such was the 20th year of the 21st century.” Until . . . Until hope sprang from the graveyard in the form of a golden dandelion, defiant n its will to flower through the cracks in the concrete slab. Its bloodied but radiant head spread joy through its seeds.

Led by brave men in scrubs, who knew the tactics of the unseen enemy and united the isolated stock of citizens into the battlefield of life, saving humanity from this scourge. We owe everything to the medical scientists, the emergency room physicians, our primary caregivers, the nurses, the paramedics, for keeping its lethality to the minimum. For giving us hope.

These lyrical COVID odes by Ashkum Ashwick, to the medical community, is a timely tribute. Our gratitude to them is immeasurable; only such noble words of praise can attempt to be our repayment. As writers, poets, authors, and scribes, words are all that we can offer, even as we know that our words will fall short in our homage to these brave souls that lead us from the front.

To them, we owe our lives in this blight. To them, our debt is lifelong. To them, we say, “thank you, thank you!”Jay Sokhi

 

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