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.
"Victims of Life (and the Human Other)"
- The Voice of a Shadow, 2017
(c) Copyright protected. Onalethuso Petruss Buyile Ntema, Botswana, Afurukan.