Read Time:50 Second
we who bleed easy
haemophiliacs
curl up in our cradles
away from the harshness
of the world and
the dangers of the unfamiliar.
brittle bones
afraid to break
we encase our fragility
in portmanteaus
made of brass
and aluminium finish.
we who tiptoe around the light
taking shadows for duvet
artful dodgers
wary of being razed
to ash by everything
that illuminates us.
all of us — children of Adam
are more alike than we allow
by mid-harmattan
everyone is a refugee
looking for shelter
wherever they can find it.