Just a poem

Should I Fight?

I fight empathy

every

 step

of the

  way.

Who taught me this?

The lesson is sung

in our bones,

our blood;

anyone of this world

but not

my world

is undeserving

of consideration.

This song leads me

in a heavy dance,

my limbs weighted

I grapple

with the inclination

to understand,

to see past

our

un-same-ness.

But then,

isn’t it true

that certain people

(certain groups of people,

certain ruling peoples)

created

the tradition

of insensitivity?

Or better

the endeavor

to be unfeeling,

to grasp self-centered-ness

by the strength of its back,

to hold it close,

to do only

for oneself?

What if we could

inject

fresh born humans

with empathy;

so much so

that it made them

victims

bodily

            to their own

senses.

What if by this infirmity,

this so called empathy,

one felt ill

every time

one chose

not see one’s  

neighbour;

chose not to

acknowledge

its humanity

(our shared

humanity),

its

likeness,

the same-ness

that is the thread

running through us

like the golden-hued chord

in a moving,

breathing

tapestry.

How like

I am

to you

and you to me,

and both to some

divine spirit

which could

be

you

if you let it.