Wanderers

What does it mean to be human? To be so prone to error? From where does our
laughter sprout? Where do our tears seep before they spill?

The earth spins like a question and as an answer, we move. We walk and leave to
arrive and depart. To build trails is the thing that makes the most sense. Doesn’t it?

As far back as we can read the stars like braille, there have been footprints walking
across rivers, across valleys, across oceans, across deserts. We have always moved
our bodies—stubborn to make it to a place that secures, at the very least, a future.

We have always sought safety and peace. We have always ran from destruction with
children in arms clinging to our human right of migration; our inherent right to live;
our species’ oldest trait; a thing of evolutionary instinct; our primal power through
replacement not displacement.

And yet, the walls go up anyhow, slicing our soles, amputating limbs that reach out
for embrace. Heartless kingdoms who deem themselves modern but cage their
fellow human beings go rotten and punish us like animals for simply wandering as
as humankind has always done and always will.

February 2, 2018

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