Saturday, September 30, 2006
He was from a world apart,
of alien roots and tongues
His life and ours
separated - by the deep chasm
of land and culture
He hardly comprehended
the 270 km/h lifestyle,
Dictated by the luminous trinity
of red, amber and green
He had never stopped -
to smell the roses,
that we so take for granted;
nor could he
He left his land,
that war-torn blood bath
Of corpses and munition
In search of life; but
He was like a puzzle piece
in the jigsaw of community
As it turned out;
He was of the
wrong shape after all
He was churned and spun
in the serpentine slum
Never assimilated, and
Regurgitated - out the
sulphurous gut of society
P.S: Hands too itchy to keep still. :)
my mi nd is un.ravel.ling/ 10:32 AM
