The Smoke

Tendrils bloomed on the horizon,

you could smell,

 the burning,

you could feel,

the hatred,

you could hear,

the oppression. 

But touch,

no man's contmeplation. 

Looking at the horizon, 

as we cowered in our corners. 

Looking,

we still ignored.

Feeling,

for all the wrong reasons.

We and them, 

came out at the wrong moment. 

Maybe for the wrong reason. 

But that smoke, 

that smoke, 

makes me worried. 

As I cower here,

in my corner. 

Poetry Slam: 
This poem is about: 
My community

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