Taken from my collection 'Lines'.
People traipse like two rails of a track,
Side by side and
Visible to the eye,
But blind to the touch.
We’re made of different hues,
Each organic, but so hard to fuse.
The pliable soils of a land
Bear the weight of a ruling hand.
Man builds margins
And the other man waits in line.
He scars a race with lashed backs and genocide,
And the shape of terrain worldwide.