a poem by Aanavi Malik

My own smell is familiar
People exist but only on screens
I paint, I read, I scream internally
And I pass days like a primitive camel
I look for insides to break
Like I would on healthy days

Social distancing salvages
I run, I stretch, I panic
And I’m not sure I want to go back again
Death is everywhere
Did those who died know last year
That they wouldn’t exist the next

People are new, and rusty
And so far away
Like something you can touch
But only through a glass film
There is no satisfaction

Every cough is a deadline
Every sniff is suspicious
Everything you touch is dirty
Covering you face is not taboo
Washing your hands is not optional
Competition is diluted

I have lesser hair on my head than I did before
Because I play with it out of boredom
My own impulsiveness surprises me
I look like a pineapple nowadays