This poem, by Niharika, attempts to discuss the recklessness of humans during the pandemic, and the natural responsibility of the cicadas. An exclusive for Different Truths.
I step gingerly out into the sunlight. My trembling hands unsure as they peel off my mask with exaggerated care. This face mask an integral part of my visage for nearly seventeen months can now reveal what it has concealed. My new face has lines. Freshly etched crevices where worry has cornered considerable real estate. Photophobia overwhelms my injured brain as the bright light of hope pierces my cloudy eyes and illuminates my exhausted soul just like that euphoric time when a calmly confident syringe had sharply pierced my arm and injected into me the unrelenting labor the endless sleepless nights the triumph, and the hope of indefatigable scientists “Congratulations! You are vaccinated!” It is then that I had set down heavy baggage I did not know I was carrying. The sickening fear of certain death that had clawed at my heart for so long had released its ghastly grip. When I returned home, he was patiently waiting Languidly strumming his favorite song Tell me, he had hoarsely whispered still strumming loudly But giving me his hand How are you feeling? Wonderful! I had exclaimed in sheer relief I am vaccinated. I can hug you now! I know, he had uttered quietly his round eyes glowing thoughtfully I have been quarantined in darkness for seventeen very long years. I have finally emerged and shed my mask Doffed my exoskeleton So I can spread my wings And sing my song. You and I are re-entering this strange world in chorus But my natural imperative does not approve of the reckless behavior of your kind The elixir shot into your arm is an extraordinary chance to protect your species And yet, so many of you shun it You are inconsiderate fools! But I am naturally programmed to save my kind I am a Cicada, and this is my song My sacred responsibility to ensure the survival of my species I am Monsieur Magicicada and I hereby choose to save as is my duty until nature compels me to die.
Poet’s Note: The poem draws a parallel between vaccinated residents of the United States who are now allowed to shed their masks, safely, and are beginning to emerge from over a year of pandemic protocols – and the periodic cicadas that emerge every 17 years as nymphs, shed their exoskeletons to molt into adults, mate, lay eggs, and die. This is done to perpetuate the species. The cicadas have emerged now in the eastern United States’ mid-Atlantic region. The last time they appeared was in 2004. This is their debut on social media.
Visuals sourced by the poet
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