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?

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