Here, the spoils of a system,
a system with the strength
to butcher another, under another
It’s a nameless generation of struggle,
labouring across the street for a better day
at an intersection of hellos and goodbyes,
uncertain glances, ghostly rules to break.
They gather as countrymen, where words
could mean nothing but a familiar place,
a certain level of currency, moving places
within a public order, among the frying pans,
the brooms, the hammers, and the laundry.
The passport will decide who shall survive
in what everyone believes is the “game of the fittest”,
in which only a quarter of the world can play.
They dare not step outside of the circle.
They dare not fall prey to the vulture’s snare.
Friendships and tea.
Poem: Verbs of the same feather by Gina Testigo | Meridians: A Journal from Everywhere
Artwork: Hope for the animals by Lila Marquez | Lines of Lila at www.linesoflila.com