injustice inhabits history
and is signposted
backwards and forwards
in skewed time
emblazoned on your forehead and in your hand
yet
politics is not a luxury
that can be ignored
when it is a daily personal issue
of life and death
for
when hearts fray
and
the resilience of new bodies
is worn down
every day and every action is political
with each fresh sunrise
the blanched experience of life
plays out on both sides of the tracks
where wonderland and wasteland
meet and part
simultaneously
while some souls live with their heads in the clouds
their neighbours
claw and scratch through each minute with the desperation of a drowning child
when it is morning
in wonderland
you may easily wash away the unsettling bad dreams
with fresh milk and honey,
and glide through to sundown
when you soulfully breathe out the worries of your day on the cool porch
without
a passing thought
for the neighbour – the one who constantly falters
because halfway through breathing
their emotions ricochet
between the impossible choices of
either screaming with rage
or sobbing uncontrollably
for
each lurch into their new old days requires
fresh salve for seen and unseen
scars that are the patchwork history
of stumbled steps and missed heartbeats
that repeat
same same
same same pain
same same
wonder-full life flows smoothly
adjacent
yet oblivious and
ignorant
of the weight
lifted each day
a mere side-step away
the in-visibility of brave warriors
dressed in humanity
are whispers of mystery
to cloud-filled ears
yet
if mirrored secrets were known
you would all
entwine limbs like children
and hold each other with tender kindness
immediately forgetting that
you were ever fractured strangers
From the Between the Lines collection, now available here: