Scarcity
No fertile ground in my space
Yet I am sewing seeds for flowers to grow on,
Lack of empathy,
No questions or curiousity,
Is it arrogance ?
My unknown is a melted multicolour ice-cream
I am a blend of flavours , bursting from tongue ,
Except mine is in chest, eyes and feet,
Mine is in every marking that makes my hand,
I was born from farmers blood
Earth, water, seed and sun,
I am the stem that grew in dirt,
The rose will come,
Yet there is no compassion on his tongue
Only half smiles whilst stuck in quarantine
I see,
How heartless the human has become,
Because we are not lovers,
But human we are,
Maybe I have mistaken my concept of being.
What it is to be Human
Even whilst dying