Supperated Wound: We Are Part Of The Poem by Thabani Khumalo

There is no busier man than the one in love.
All the world dies for is a warranted desire to touch.

People, sometimes,
need to sit as a private pair
and attentive listen to the words of the companion.
If the stories grow interesting;
if they progress stronger into maturity,
there becomes a justified reason to touch,
then the two souls shall develop
into what they may advance as love.

It is definitely the thing,
by virtue of a numbering principle,
that has no calculated reality upon the land:
this is still barricaded,
even though people hat it when other people suffer and die -
ages of the world have worn their wrists out working
in order to keep this wound supperated
and every creature is born with it.