As I lay here on the floor,
in a pool of my own blood,
with a broken leg and a severed arm,
and a used tyre around my neck,
I wonder what I’ve done.

I am an African living in the south.
I have a wife and two kids.
I sell newspapers for a living.
I hardly feed my family well enough.
I wonder what my crime is.

I am surrounded by strange faces,
faces I’ve never seen before.
People I’m sure I’ve never wronged,
but they look at me like I stole something.
Like I’m an animal hunted down for sport.

Don’t I look human enough?
Or am I not black enough?
I wonder.

As I made a last attempt to stand,
a hit on my head with a metal object
sent me back to the ground.
They’ve drenched me with fuel,
and are now ready to light their bonfire.

I looked around and saw my wife.
She was hiding nearby, watching.
I couldn’t see my kids.
I had to do something.
I summoned my last strength-
and gave her my last instruction.


Why not share?

React to this post:

Loading spinner

Be the first to comment

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published.