By
Noel A. Ihebuzor
sometimes, some situations
make you feel
that blood is unequally weighted
unequally valued, unequally mourned
sometimes, some comments
make you believe that
some blood is more red,
more human than others
that when and where bred
color blood richer crimson,
color our views about those who shed
and those whose blood is shed
the why bleeds away
with the ugly gurgle
of once bubbling blood
that soaks, drenches the sand,
Rage is subdued by reality
silence is sage when walls
listen and even hear whispers
and skies can rain final silence
yet, does all blood
not smell the same
rusting iron mingled with sickening fresh
no matter how weighted,
or is there second hand blood,
from second class humans,
colored in oluwole crimson
in this our unequal world?
Reflections 