Do you know I love your smile, and the way you hold your door?

A hug

Do you know how hard it is

Not to touch you, not to come close?

Do you ever feel my desire,

To kiss your eyes, and to peck your nose?

Do you know I love your smile,

And the way you hold your door?

Do you know your voice is music?

I would always ask for more.

Can you guess what I would say,

When you ask: what can I do for you?

I would whisper: Can you hug me please?

Such a wonderful moment for a minute or two.

Love makes the day

Darkness of this night is not in cloudy sky,

Neither is in absence of moon or stars.

Blackness of this night comes from bars,

They tell us numbers, hundreds will die.

Silence of this night is not a midnight sound.

If music can be played it stays locked.

Steps, cars or dance, all remain blocked.

United in fears, in isolation we are bound.

Beauty of this night in early May

Is not in red flowers or in violet rose,

Only in our hearts we are close.

Night will pass by; love makes the day.

Dear Doc,

On Saturday night I wanted to write a love poem. It is now almost a year and a half since I last wrote any poem and I wanted to see if I can still transfer my emotions into this form of writing. The first poem I wrote that evening somehow didn't end up to be a love poem. Instead, a reflection of the current situation we all find ourselves in, that simply came out of me without me planning to do so. This poem is for everybody. The second poem “A hug” is about my feelings for you exclusively.

Today is exactly two months from when we last saw each other. March 4th marked 10 years since my dad died. I still miss him very much. Do you know that his nickname was Doc?

That morning I told you I was worried for you. And I was truly worried, as I followed the situation in China very closely and I spoke often with my Chinese friends and colleagues about it. They told me stories of cases in Wuhan where a whole family died from Covid-19. That morning you were relaxed, and you told me that you were not in the risky group. I wanted to say “neither was Dr Li Wenliang from Wuhan and he still died at the age of 34”. Instead, I did not say anything. It took me several weeks to stop worrying. First, I realised that the NHS found a good way of protecting their GPs and second, I stopped following the news frequently. I still listen to the briefing from the Government each afternoon, but not much more than that. I like to get information first-hand and the statistics don’t disturb me as much as the individual cases of deaths that are regularly reported on the news. The less I know the happier I am. Instead of thinking about possible deaths I now think about love: love towards my friends and colleagues, but most of all my love for my daughter, my brother and his kids, and my love for you.

Hope you like my poems. If not, it is fine, you do not have to.

In my thoughts always.

Kristina

Monday, May 4th 2020