Where Have All the Children Gone by Doeun Kim (14, Philippines)

An old man walks into Urdaneta Village,
wide houses revealed behind their sharp gates.
The wind hums as it brushes against his skin
but his breath is sealed by a mask.
It’s a Saturday evening -
there would have been Mozart’s Sonata No. 7
wafting from the cars that used to flit
through the roads of Ayala Avenue
as water cascaded down the tabletop water fountains,
city lights glowing through the glass walls of the Fairmont.

---

​The roads had emptied,
a lone guard stands by the entrance of a hotel,
his arms crossed, even after hours of standing still.
The man walks past the Kinney lampposts.
They flicker through each exhale.
From the dim houses,
he hears the muffled voices of anchors reciting statistics,
“396 cases, the country remains in lockdown”.
Where have all the children gone?
There were none of them peddling
sampaguita, holding disposable cups.
He stops walking when he reaches the park.
There is a rusty swing set, he remembers
its wooden handles prickling his hands.
There used to be soccer goals, molave trees and cars
parked beside the field of grass.
The clear skies with thin layers of clouds scatter across
as buildings hover over the concrete streets.
There are other things he tries to recall,
to populate his mind,
but these seem enough for now.