And we found ourselves
buried in this hole,
this enclave we dug by ourselves.
Fanaticism took the wheel
while we lost our will
riding dangerously on this lane,
chasing our shadows
with a gleeful mien of suspicion!
we grow bombs,
allow them bloom
laying them as wreaths
on the heart of our sanctuary,
while our streets become a mortuary!
Together we weave this song
that now pierce us like thorn;
reprisals, reprisals and reprisals.
What a shame!
meet the poet: Jon Manuels Enekele
I am a member of the WRR editorial team.