A body.
it was wrapped in
cloth
seen from behind the
sheen of a bus window it laid there.
close enough to
touch, yet miles away
my blinded eyes would
not let me approach.
I weep.
I weep not just for
loss of life.
Again not for the
screaming faces of dread. I weep for the lack of grief. my lack.
for this scene is
familiar
i have seen it a
hundred times through the media. through the culture. through my blinded eyes.
desensitized.
The bus window became
a screen separating a fact from fiction.
is it real?
was it?
i must rehumanize
myself.
until i live my life
consciously
knowing that each of
us bleed one deep red shade.
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