Baraka

Sun, 11/02/2014 - 22:29 -- hburke

I watch as they paint their faces,
bending to their knees,
in worship of a God they love.

They work.
They dance.
They sing.
They starve.

In prayer,
they open their hearts.
In light,
they share their faith.
In silence,
they rest their souls.

Strength of humanity flows,
like a rustling stream of water;
pushing its way between the cracks.

A crack in the roots
tears civilization apart.
Silence.
A chiming bell is heard
among a bustling army of people.

Children sit upon the rooftops.
Running around foolishly.
Dancing around shamelessly.
No worries of the present world 
of their suroundings.

Hard labour,
becomes another man's fortune.
Struggle;
for food,
for money,
for shelter.

They go to work.
They come home.
They live the unexamined life.

We feed on the blood of the weak.
Their frailty is our triumph.

Like slaves, 
they succumb to the misery.
We are cannibals of our own neighbours.
Unrelenting.

Roaming the streets,
in search of meaning.
Waving goodbye to our ambition.

We cherish the ones we love.
We sacrifice ourselves.
We lust.
We love.
We mourn.

The power to succeed;
Faith in tradition.
Love in connection.
We are all human,
in this parade of humanity.

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