Ak 47

We are separated by guns
And borders, troops on petrol
And at times, we are prisoners
Of history, hunting our own piece
Of staying power
Of legacies that are born, of seeping sweat
And perhaps a pint of blood
And sometimes what separates us
Is just a film of melanin
Or the length of facial hair
Or the absence
And occasionally we make abominable war
And not an edition of love
Hinged on a puny snippet
Of foreskin.