Stolen Spring

Our spring has been stolen.
A virus so malevolent
hits worldwide, not intelligent
for it leaves us broken.

Birds sing on my terrace,
air is purer, less pollution,
a positive contribution,
a moment of solace.

Yet people are dying
while spring comes and knocks on our doors.
We hear nothing, trapped in our moors.
And birds are still flying

over blossoming trees,
over the non-confined nature.
We’ve been deprived of that rapture.
Who’s gonna pay our fees?

Who’s gonna pay the rent?
Universal Basic Income,
or shall many people succumb?
What are we to invent?

For those who will have less,
who already lived in poverty
and who will live more somberly
a stolen spring careless

of those who suffer most.
Who’s short of breath encounters death.
We are soon facing megadeath
of those trapped by the ghost.

It’s all incognito.
Flourishing is our stolen spring
yet we cannot display our wing,
a general veto.

Just basic services.
We’re not allowed to go outside,
only basics and then inside,
such is the acuteness.

For those who have no home
situation’s worst on the street,
it will depend on what they meet.
They’ve long been left alone.

For those that are abused
by many a family member,
will home as their hell remember,
all left alone, subdued.

Our stolen spring’s laughing
outside with flowers in blossom.
Intensive green trees are our balsam
but must stay home coughing

or at least we prevent
a greater collapse of system,
although some are facing boredom,
of freedom a fragment.

How I long for this scent
of young tree leaves in full blossom,
of nature in spring, such balsam,
now my crippled intent.

Time encapsulated
while spring unfolds its blossoming.
Perhaps a young star is coming,
a new spring belated

for our humanity
a rebirth of hopeful doings
to get rid of evil doings,
for solidarity

to rise from the ashes,
to take the chance to start brand new,
to rescue us from deepest blue.
Wind that evil smashes

I feel it on my face,
in my body and soul express
as I want to combat distress
and sense there’s a new place.

This planet must restart,
neve lose hope nor illusions;
let us work with best intentions
from the very deep heart.

Dreaming air of freedom
I took golden wings to dance on
my terrace thinking that we won
and defeated treason

when history books speak
about what we are living now
and try to tell people how
we defeated the peak

of a virus so bad
that I give you my wings of hope
to feel that we’re all tied to a rope
of which we must be glad

as it means salvation,
invisible rope to help us.
To get rid of disgusts
I’ll give you intonation

within my wings of hope
that you will sense during this dance
which should represent greatest chance
and a dream of large scope.

Our spring has been stolen.
A virus so malevolent
hits worldwide, not intelligent
for it leaves us broken.

Yet I dance with my wings
of hope and pray for solution
for humanity’s salvation
as I trace golden rings

in the air we breathe
to pay homage to all heroes,
to each person that comes and goes,
to every one beneath

the pillars that sustain
healthcare, foodcare and providers
of all we need. They’re our riders
to help contain the pain.

Our spring has been stolen
but there are always wings of hope
tied to an invisible rope:
this dance is not broken.

© 2020 Marta Pombo Sallés

And this is my dance Wings of Hope: