COVID-19  A poem for a tough time.

“Mind the Breath”, the Ajahn says
“And practice till you see
With clarity and insight how
Things are – and you can be.”

Not easy when the covid coughs
Convulse my retching frame
As I lie here and fight for breath
This aerosol, arcane.

It creeps and seeps into our lungs
Then leeches on to grow
And multiply in every cell
From brain, to skin, to toe.

With heart and kidney under strain
and wheezing aching lungs
My future looks uncertain
As the reaper’s shadow comes.

Coronas are so tiny
Unimaginably small
They can’t survive a soapy wash,
Yet have the strength to grow

And kill us in our thousands,
As we strut around and play
And live our lives oblivious
While still they seep away.

Coronas are not conscious,
They neither love nor hate.
The only path they follow is
Their drive to replicate.

Which, when we come to think on it,
Is what we also do
As piling on our numbers
Is really nothing new.

So their unexpected coming
In this latest frightful shape
Is a wake-up call we must not balk
Our crucial chance to take.

To live our lives no longer based
On growth, and greed and hate
And using up this precious earth
Until it is too late.

Explanatory.  Ajahn – Teacher. Title of a senior teaching monk in the Thai and Forest Monastery Buddhist tradition.  “practice” and “mind the breath” refer to mindfulness meditation.

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