Because we must choose.
Let me put it this way (okay, so I happen to be very fond of writing sonnets):
Go stand before the earthly gates of Hell
And read the iron lie “Work Makes One Free”.
The countless dead that breathed the Zyklon-B
Speak silently to you who listen well.
Accused of vice, and robbed of voice, in vain
They die to douse the judge’s flaming cackle
That burns renewed with every witch’s crackle.
In place of Truth, the light reveals the stain:
Bless biased ignorance and spiteful hearts,
Give praise, and raise one’s tribe above the rest,
To break the bond of reason’s sacrament.
Seduce your soul with us-and-them; it starts
Your temporal fall from Grace. Can you contest
Fear’s epitaph, Last Will and Testament?
When I sat on the side of a demarcated bus bench ‘reserved’ for people of a different race in Durban one hot…
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