Treading Between the Lines

In the meridian sun,
Blinding is the blazing light,
My eyes' bruised in the brightness,
While the world's so black and bare,
So close it’s to the cryptic.

Being beautiful and ugly,
There is a mark that divides
the masked beauty of the grotesque
and the ugliness in grace;
No beaut nor vile per se.

There’s an illicit closeness;
The poor and the rich, their ‘tween,
Only the sharpest blade cuts
The fine line that parts through them
is what makes us posh or poor.

Everything is in reverse;
Your gun that kills me and them
My gun that kills you and them
What is it that cuts through us,
but for sure it’s not our guns.

In Koubru and Baruni
Lies a division divine
While we would dream for heaven
Disguised gods have enshrouded
What lies between us and them

Love and hate, their mean closeness
Between them there’s no conflict
What you love is what you do
What hate is not, it’s not love
But a sense in flesh and blood.

Run through the high and the low
There’s a horizontal line
of unknown height that tells
not of passing and failings
but another perspective.

From yesterday to this day
And from now to tomorrow
Back and forward there lies still
A history adamant
And a future erratic.

While the gazelle runs for life
the lion runs for living
Halfway through them is the line
that all things are made up of;
Unknown, immeasurable.

Birth and death are so nescient
We have a fine line of life,
We know we live in our mind
When the riverbanks are dry
Nothing is beyond these lines.