Nowhere to Run

NOWHERE TO RUN TO,
but inside our own feelings.
Nowhere to turn to,
except into ourselves
where we see the thin line
between life and death.

In the lonely fight
between faith and plague despair,
each one of us turns to somewhere
to find a ray of light.

Those of us who learned to pray late
or don’t even know the meaning of prayer
crave to wake up soon from the nightmare
that only started and seems to have no end.

We are new to this level of anguish.

No generation spared.

We read the history books
and believed that we were immune,
that science always had the cure.

We make jokes about it,
because we know we will shed tears;
those of us who are left to find a path
to a redemption that’s nowhere near.

It is not in our hands, so we move,
try to help, reach out, do what we forgot
to do along the way. We prepare for
the unspeakable that will come.

We find solace in human kindness.

We express love that we forgot to tell
with words, through deeds that
give us meaning.

Sometimes we pray because there
is nowhere else to go.