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 )
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