When this is over,
When the numbers have fallen,
When we can give our neighbours a hug,
When we can kiss our grandparents on both cheeks like they do in Rome,
When we can whisper to our parents and our children “I love you” in their ear,
When the sound of children playing is coming from the school yard,
When my neighbour in her blue uniform can finally smile.
Someone baked her a cake last week.
I made her a curry and felt bad
That she had pudding before her main.
When this is over I’ll know her name.
When this is over, can you imagine the celebration of the simple things?
The party in the street rejoicing in holding hands, standing side by side;
The festival we will have after stockpiling love,
Hoarding kisses and hamstering embraces
And dancing like no one is watching
In full sight.
I am sharing this with Jamie’s permission. He read it at a ceilidh last night and it felt positive, heartfelt and hopeful – if presently sad. https://jamiezubairi.com/