Disowning the Privilege
The struggle seems as blind
as our dark evolutionary past,
as hypocritical as a politician on the take,
as tiring as a hundred mile sprint for which
I no longer have any energy.
The struggle is as much against oneself
as one’s community that’s as polarised
as a pixelated picture.
The struggle is behind the sternum,
between the ears,
and in front of the eyes.
The struggle is in the streets,
the churches,
the parliaments,
boardrooms
and bedrooms.
The struggle is over dinner in the lounge room.
The struggle will bear fruit,
bring justice to the heart,
the lips,
the hands and feet
and eventually the street.
But the struggle will not end.
