we the human race


we the human race.
waged wars since time immemorial.
we burnt and blazed, still we plunder and raze.
made a living off the dead; built careers off of fear.

if we have to, we kill.
when it comes to ourselves there’s never a lack of zeal.
and though they always say, ‘these wounds will heal.’
the scars are there for all to feel.

it’s inescapable what colour it is you have on your hair,
no one will miss that your skin is a little less fair,
and soon, the built up illusion of harmony will rend and tear,
and tear, and tear, and tear, and tear.
’til we realise, in truth, how much everyone actually cares,
cares about us.

they care about us,
whether we would cause harm to them;
they’ll stay a little further.

they care about us,
whether we would swindle and cheat them;
they’ll clutch their bags a little closer.

they care about us,
whether we are going to threaten them,
whether we are going to be an obstacle,
they care about us.

why would it matter if i’ve got darker skin?
why should it matter that i’ve got hair on my chin?
why does society think of me as a walking sin,
and forget that, ultimately, we’re all one kin?

why does everybody care what it is that i wear?
why can’t they accept that i live with a little flair?
why do we have to make life a living nightmare
when sometimes, all we need to do is care?

i cannot fathom for the life of me,
why society has to think such things of me.
label me, denounce me and treat me
as if i’m some creature that needs to be locked up with a key?

o, future where i long to be!
thy blissful days of jubilee!
are thou over the hills or across the sea!?
… will i live long enough to ever see thee?

we the human race…
why do we deface ourselves?

on the surface we may all seem nice,
but underneath we’re all full of knives.
we live in a state of lies;
what a sorry state of life.



with enmity so palpable that there can be no mistake.

you are simply more of a nuisance than you are company.

you’ll remember it every moment that you’re awake.

this may be a house but it sure ain’t a family.

the sinner laments

in meekness, his soul desired;
in weakness, his flesh retired.
yet so easily, he set his soul on fire,
again succumbing to his fleshly desire,
bogging himself in this swampy mire.

despite the cognizance,
of the need for repentance,
he led a life of reluctance;
one which reeked of repugnance,
one in need of penitence.

‘ye almighty!’
he cried out in melancholy.
‘has this pitiful life sated your ennui?
a vile slave that’s chained to iniquity?’

this enmity,
was just another daft futility.
he came to terms with reality.


nothingness breathed into life; created.
to be our own gods; we rebelled.
from dust to dust; we were condemned.
an outpouring of grace; we were saved.

at the end of the pilgrimage of sanctification
lay the casket that ended all persecution
yet this resting place will not be my last;
and this beatific smile will merely be my first.

brought back to life;
we were arraigned.
acquitted of vice;
we were justified.