We did not know what would happen. Only that it would happen. We did not know what we were grieving. Only that we were Grieving: for something unknowable yet certain.
South Africa (31 March 2020) – Anton Taylor, a South African writer, actor and media personality recently wrote a heartfelt poem in the midst of the COVID-19 pandemic.
The poem is incredibly emotional but hopeful.
The COVID-19 pandemic has to date infected over 787 000 people globally, resulting in more than 37 000 deaths. With more than two billion people around the world in some form of lockdown or self-isolation… these are unprecedented times that require some hope for the future.
And Taylor delivers exactly that!
Read the full poem below:
The sun rose each day.
We, the South Africans, waited.
From across the world, the stories came.
Carried by terror.
From across the world, the virus came.
Carried by people,
with families and loved ones and dreams who;
just like all of us:
want to feel safe, and at home;
to be seen and heard and held.
The sun rose each day.
And so did the numbers.
The streets quietened. The soldiers came.
(not always in that order)
Unable to see or hear or hold each other,
we had to unlearn how we showed love
Now Now!
Squeezed inside,
the only thing to do was
scream
over networks.
The platforms raged.
They could not shout down or cancel
this
indifferent
inconceivable
So they pointed fingers
at the other.
Attacking him and her and I,
for causing our Common Doom.
Only the streets were quiet.
The sun rose each day.
And so did numbers.
We wondered,
‘what will it feel like?’
But no one could tell us.
We did not know what would happen.
Only that it would happen.
We did not know what we were grieving.
Only that we were
Grieving:
for something
unknowable
yet
Certain.
We, the South Africans, waited.
A doctor, born in the DRC;
a South African,
whose eyes were looking at something behind me,
told me that:
in wards that echoed
and tents that shivered in the wind,
they could almost feel the tremor.
But could not see it.
It was coming from too far
or
too high.
And the thought occurred, that perhaps the waiting was as bad as what lay ahead.
But you see.
We could not know.
All we had were our imaginings;
tales from the northern, richer countries,
deformed and distended,
tailored to our land
and our own carefully cultivated fears.
Perhaps our early measures would limit the spread.
Perhaps there would be a cure.
Perhaps it would not be worse than we could imagine.
But we could not know.
So.
We, the South Africans, waited.
The sun rises each day.
And so do the numbers.
And sometimes there are breakthroughs
in better understanding
how incomprehensible this is.
I feel so powerless.
But.
Perhaps.
There is something I can show you.
You see.
Because I cannot hold you,
I must cling
to these precious things:
Truths.
The things that
I do know:
Immutable Facts
which are immune to a virus.
I do know
We are South Africans.
We have endured what most others have not
(some of us much more than others)
But nonetheless.
We, the South Africans,
have survived
many times
that which is unfathomable.
(and we are not unfamiliar with a virus that kills us through our love for each other)
It is an easy thing to write; on my computer, alone, at home, and fed,
but
If pain builds resilience
(and it does)
and if one can suffer without succumbing to cruelty
(one can. We do.)
Then perhaps,
although many of us are sick, and poor, and unable to self-isolate,
We are prepared.
In a way that is not as apparent.
In a manner not born of wealth and infrastructure.
You see.
In a part of us so deep that it is
fathomless
there is
a key to two places
that decides when faced with
The Possibility of Annihilation – the unfathomable
whether to choose
I
or
Us.
To stoop alone to my most selfish wants,
or
to rise together to the shared miracle of Us.
To protect, and share, and love.
My worst.
or
Our best.
All the rest are not choices
but
streams,
flowing with a current that runs from the source within
me
or
We.
The turn of that key
is what will save or destroy nations.
The turn of that key.
More than anything else.
It is difficult for
an individual
who has never been told:
‘I am because we are.’
or
‘My parents died of AIDS.’
or
‘If you don’t send back money from the city we will starve.’
or
‘I pray my child doesn’t get shot in our driveway.’
to understand
– let alone fight –
an invisible enemy
that is unconcerned
with wealth or status;
and to which the only cure
is to become a collective.
It is hard to know which way to twist
a key to two places –
anarchy
or
Humanity
– if life has not yet taught you that such a key exists.
Those who have already lived
apart but together
through so much,
have been asked to decide
which way to work that key;
over and over
day after day
year after year
until
the latch of the lock is worn and lopsided,
there is a channel
and
the key to two places
is weighted.
There is so much I do not know.
But.
I do know
We are South Africans.
I do know
which way the key will turn.
Because the decision was made
long before this,
many times over.
We have chosen:
Us.
I do know
one day the sun will rise.
And the numbers will not.
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