Grow a beard. There will be other ways we
Won't recognise ourselves when this is over.
Wear old T-shirts, the ones musty with
Memory and former selves to rediscover.
Listen to old music, watch reruns - histories
Large and small. For solace, and for learning.
Sew - tea cosies, new curtains, anything
To stitch together what the days whisper.
Call it something else. We will need the labels
Later, when we all but forget our own names.
Run, wearing a mask. Sympathise with those
Whose breath catches in the coming days.
Learn to read eyes above masks - soul-windows,
Word-lit, life-lined, quite possibly smiling.
Send friends a picture of a flower for each death.
Nature has ways to celebrate those with no names.
Walk alone. Hear the lallang sing, the cow
Grass muttering, the silence of air newly clean.
Take up calligraphy. Draw. Pray.
Soften the sharp edges of words.
Bake. See how everything rises
To occasions if we know how to call.
Watch children play - better yet, join them, laugh.
They know as much as anyone can in such times.
Plant green beans. Watch them sprout. Witness
What happens when we remember to face the sun.
• Aaron Maniam, 41, is the author of two poetry collections, Morning At Memory's Border (2005) and Second Persons (2018). The circuit breaker gave him more time with his family, as well as to exercise and meditate.
• For more local digital arts offerings, go to a-list.sg to appreciate #SGCultureAnywhere