Bones,
same broken and some strong,
bones,
to whom do they belong?
Their present is clear for all to see,
their future is not hard to foresee,
lying on the ground, covered in dust,
but what can you tell about their past?
Now they are bones but they were alive once,
they used to fight, they used to dance,
covered outside by hair and skin,
love and hatred burning within.
Look how they all look alike,
can you tell who was the first to strike?
what differences did they have?
why did they split the world in half?
Why did they start killing each other,
taking away the kids from the mother?
Can you tell who held the gun?
Can you tell who shot, who tried to run?
On which language did they talk?
which barriers they had to knock,
what heavy burdens they had to carry,
some of them real, others imaginary.
Enslaved by masters, daemons and gods,
sometimes forced by pistols and rods,
sometimes willingly, tricked like fools,
by ignorance, money and jewls.
Attacking the different, choosing not to see,
following the norm, too scared to be free,
becoming the bullet instead of the feather,
dividing, instead of bringing together.
They rest quietly now together in peace,
every single bone, they mold into one piece,
bound on one earth spinning around,
there are no borders under the ground.
There is no boundary, no high wall,
there are no war flags standing tall,
you can hear the souls together to mourn,
wishing for a chance wiser to be reborn.
Bones,
some broken and some strong,
Bones,
to whom do they belong?
19.01.2019
Jimmy Larus 