I can see the burning coals in my neighbor’s soul
Lighting his eyes red and turning his heart cold
I can see the hate fueled by the words of others
Our esteemed leaders who in their personal interests
Want to tear our relationship apart

Four years with no hatred nor animosity we lived
Four years as good neighbors we loved as thyselves
But the experts said we are a tribal people
A people who are so mean to love only those of their kind

I saw no tribalism in the four years my neighbor and I interacted
And I also see no tribal neighbor in the fifth year of elections
I see a dark soul aroused by the words that tear in a trice
I see an aura of darkness that clouds a deranged self
I see a white cloth with spots of dark matter
Unlike many, I see not tribalism
But an innocent soul twisted by politicians
Who in their quest for self-liberation want to yoke us to eternal jails

As I sit today pondering on who is my Shujaa
For four years my neighbor was
For four years the relentless soul greased my squeaky locomotive
But today, I see no more than a villain wanting to devour me
Because the very people who are supposed to make this day sacred
Have marred it with turmoil and gloom
Who is my Shujaa?
If the only soul that pulled me from the abyss
Has an uncontrollable urge to send not only me and my kind back
With no second thought or memories of our time in paradise?



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