An Inspired Poem: The Stories We’ll Tell

How will we speak of these years,
When the air carried fear,
And silence filled the streets,
Where laughter once echoed?

Will we whisper of masks like ancient relics,
Fragile shields against an invisible tide,
Or of hands scrubbed raw,
Seeking solace in soap and water?

Perhaps we’ll recall the way time warped—
Days stretched long, yet months vanished,
And we learned to measure life
In the flicker of screens and the weight of absence.

Will we speak of the quiet heroes,
Not only those in scrubs and uniforms,
But those who baked bread,
Who shared their songs,
Who lit candles in windows
To signal: “We’re still here”?

Will we tell of the grief we bore,
The empty chairs we dared not fill,
The love we carried, heavy as stone,
Through the longest of winters?

And yet, perhaps the stories
Will also bloom with hope:
Of windows thrown open to applause,
Of neighbors turned family,
Of a world reawakening,
Wildflowers reclaiming forgotten corners.

Will we say we learned?
That we saw, finally,
What connects us, thread by thread,
And understood that a sneeze, a breath,
Could ripple across oceans?

When we speak of these years,
Will it be with sorrow or pride,
Or the quiet awe reserved for storms survived?
Perhaps, we will simply pause,
Let the silence settle like dust—
And hold each other a little closer.