Oil and Water

By day, the sharp streaks of scorching sun
deeply slice through our skins-but not our souls
folks hiss and slither side by side
Yet glide after stride,blow after hug
Sinner stands apart from saint,
black flows sharp  from white
and the righteous condemn and curse the damned

With the long awaited relieving cover of dusk,
the comfortable blanket of night
spreads in its path an odd honest spell of lycanthropy
A metamorphosis of white and black
into familiar  cocktails of grey
We juggle and vanish our halos for fitting crowns of thorns
At that holy moment, there is no need to decant
For oil and water seep separately no more

George W Kiwanuka
@Georgewkiwanuka




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