The cracks on my feet,

To the ends of the world l toil with my toe.

The food l place on table,

my feet know the story best.


It is a Corona moreover,

A car that would fly over,

now a virus on a newspaper front cover.

Covid19, made in 2019

didn’t spare even those aged nineteen.

Wow, a celebrated car brand!


Like a criminal in my chamber,

The youth l am, so trodden by sorrow.

I live by a contract and die by termination…

But l doubt my future for l starve to infinity..

True,you reap what you sow!


Once a giver from my sweat,

but now a beggar from my forced retirement.

Bigger now smaller,

forced hostage to fight the pandemic,

Terminating my academic contract.


Corona, where is my income?

I am Uganda’s tomorrow, but still didn’t spare me!

Can my wounds be stitched?

Life is now a twist for l peep in fear,

my economy so alarming.

Hands that earned now support my cheeks all day long..


The pain l bare, no one can tell.

The cross l carry, no one can lift.

Can my wounds be stitched?

But to this point, lost in pain,

Burdened with grief.


In a contract to stay home and safe,

I doubt you will be able to understand my pain…

The dream of joining campus, now a dead year!

Yes,l miss my school,

I miss my friends.

What a crisis, I mean pandemic!

By Alupo Mercy Marion, 20 years old