Victims of Life (and the Human Other)

I am not an exception but a victim of this life

Like butterflies of sacred colors, for time

Is not a living thing. Time is a moment. A mile

Between me, you and reality. And I believe that victims

Often intend or pretend as though nothing has happened

Unaware or known. For life

Demands a little more time to behold, uphold

And embrace. The victim is always a system

Of being strange to the very person I am; but the law

Of nature serenades me to this human I am,

The human other, I am a child of the eighties...

For earliest people have long said it.

The earliest bird. I am just a human, and this

Is a plight of victims of life and the human other. For peace

Is no longer a gesture of oneness but a consortium of greed

And brutal weapons of war and hatred between human beings.

Who is behind all these wars and terrific scenes

Where human blood is shed behind desert winds?

Where logic has escaped human beings to behave

Like fallen heroes of ego over a long period of being enslaved,

Where human faces hide behind religion and slim shades

Of mouthed moths under soils of human skins.

This world is a sacred place of worship,

Where material beings have eroded souls of dozen beings,

For life has become less of a given but a struggle.

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"Victims of Life (and the Human Other)"

- The Voice of a Shadow, 2017

(c) Copyright protected. Onalethuso Petruss Buyile Ntema, Botswana, Afurukan.