We are divided, not by colour, but by love.
Bound by thrashing heartstrings to one another,
against our will, but on Nature’s command.
We are divided, not by our skin, but by loyalty.
One, fighting selfishly for their own survival,
the other bleeding selflessly for the cause.
It hurts, being a spectator to your play.
And it’ll come back, to hurt you one day.
It hurts, knowing you are not the victim in any of this,
no matter how hard you try to convince me you are.
And as I struggle to be free of this goldfish bowl,
I realise, coldly, that the journey is just too far.
On opposite sides of the fence we stand,
staring the other down, with trophy in hand.
We have been disconnected, isolated, and segregated.
Any concepts of equality are now wholly dilapidated.
For here you are; crying, pathetic, demanding.
Giving your all for the crowd, now standing.
And here I am; forgotten, misunderstood, and burdened with blame.
Wild emotions becoming harder to tame.
We’ve been carried to Africa on a teary tide,
with Love itself, close to suicide.
Our personal re-building of apartheid.
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Comments about this poem (Apart-heid by Dan Brown )
Still I Rise
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Edgar Allan Poe
I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings
Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
A Dream Within A Dream
Edgar Allan Poe
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(26 April 1564 - 23 April 1616)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
(30 December 1865 – 18 January 1936)
(16 August 1920 – 9 March 1994)
- Still I Rise, Maya Angelou
- If, Rudyard Kipling
- The Road Not Taken, Robert Frost
- As I Grew Older, Langston Hughes
- Dreams, Langston Hughes
- Phenomenal Woman, Maya Angelou
- If You Forget Me, Pablo Neruda
- I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings, Maya Angelou
- Daffodils, William Wordsworth
- Fire and Ice, Robert Frost