There’s silence in the city,
empty of cars and planes,
of suits and high stilettos,
of buses, bikes and trains.
There’s panic in the city,
as people bulk buy bread.
They walk over the needy
in order to get fed.
We stay far from the city
and hide behind our masks.
We talk about this “curve”
that’s growing way too fast.
It’s lonely in the city:
although we joke and laugh,
it’s hard to feel connected
from a metre and a half.
It’s too clean in the city—
too sterile and too harsh.
The hostile smells surround us,
as we walk so far apart.
And yet it still feels dirty.
We cower out of fear
from anyone who sneezes
or dares to come too near.
We wash and count to 20
until our hands are raw
and then just for good measure,
we sanitise once more.
I long for the new city,
the one that’s yet to come,
the restoration promised
by the holy risen one—
a world that’s free from crying,
infection, death and pain.
Though groaning, we rejoice,
knowing he will come again.
So soon we’ll see him coming,
Christ our saviour King,
who’ll saves us from our suffering,
and the war waging within.
For in him we are righteous.
By his Spirit, we’re made clean.
Our sin he has defeated.
We’re justified, redeemed.
In times when it’s uncertain,
though anxious, we still know
he holds all things together;
each day can worry on its own.
Though now in isolation,
we’re unified as one.
We stand and sing together:
“O come Lord Jesus come!”
Hannah is in her final year of Primary Education at the University of Sydney and is a member of All Saints Anglican Church in Petersham, Sydney. This poem is republished here with her permission.
