December Poem

The poem must be written on a December evening
When the temperature is below zero
But the snow does not fall
There is no electricity
No gas
Your lungs wheeze from breathing in the filth
Everything is shut down
People are fed up
Cursing in every corner
And
In the last moments of your phone’s battery
You listen to Vocalise
As if everything depends
On these final minutes 
What a magnificent moment it is
To be in the depths of filth
And to find solace in Rachmaninoff
Poets explore filth
And always, in its depths
They find a gem
To remind us
That life is not just one thing
Filth is not everything
There is poetry, there is music, there is love
There is always a flicker of light
A candle that is passed from hand to hand
Across the city
So that in darkness and cold
Something remains—
So that people do not grow numb
So that a note is played—
So that people do not grow silent
So they can whisper to one another:
"Did you see?"
"Did you hear?"
"Such courage!"
Poetry exists to capture these moments
For if tomorrow brings light
How terrifying it would be
If only the corpses bear witness to what went on.