Encompass

When ill voices conspire behind masks,
judging that those not known are less,
that those less are not to be known,
a form of humanity is dragged back
to swinging sticks and throwing stones.
 
If to one, another’s akin to a buffalo calf
only to prey and follow
and not an equal of your pride,
cracks will spark indignant hollows;
fields blaze to loosen the rocks.
Hidden spots should not mark our hides.
 
Just a man am I. Just a man.
Able to point my finger,
cognisant of what’s coming through;
returned minuti,
floating sky,  
falling land.
I ain’t no dead ringer,
I’m a live singer
of how we ought hold our hands.
 
 
 
2012-10-12