Survival

They taught us ‘survival of the fittest’ in books.

I learnt it on my roads.

Roads that smelt of burning trash,

smoke that pervaded nostrils,

much too used to scented skin.

Roads ran upon by people,

just like me.

Roads, that were inhabited by people,

just like me.

Roads made home by people,

just like me.

But I saw them through windows,

rolled up, protected.

I saw them running, scampering,

snatching, devouring.

Agony comes and goes,

sorrow is fleeting.

What remains are them,

their running, scampering,

snatching, devouring.

I remain in my own place,

behind the window,

watching.

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