First Piece.

First Piece.

A little more than a month ago, hurriedly
I packed my bag and rushed home,
only to realize weeks later, I had
left some essentials still at the dorm, because
I had no idea how long, this was
going to be nor did anyone else.
Since then self quarantining, at home
I have been cooking, more than
I ever did in my entire life
combined, bringing out the inner chef in me.
I have been talking and listening, leading
me to find a storyteller in my mother.
I have been reading again, since
my last brain cell couldn’t handle more
than 20 words for the longest time.
I have been looking here and there,
being more aware, only
to find some people so
self consumed, needless to say they are
going to be their own doom.
Going out has been restricted, so
going within has made more sense, and
a yogi in me is emerging, while
discovering myself with strength, I
never knew I possessed.
I have been asking myself to write, as
the only words I wrote were, for
my assignments and, I had my last
ever written piece in high school.
Broken heart maketh me write then,
but my heart breaks different now.
My king’s sight is my light, but
every time he speaks, a dry eye
I do not have.
I have been trying, to
not think COVID, only to
find myself at the start line all
over again, for it has been
everywhere, had it be shown somewhere
less, I think I would be blessed.
I have been working to gather words, for
as long as I can remember
to write, but it is not until this
I have, now
written my first piece.

– Kinga Tashi Wangmo
Bhutan