Apples and Spinach


The foul odour of scarred flesh.

The reeking decomposition.

Bodies once animated, once so alive,
Now strewn across the moist ground.

The surgical strike.

The pin-point accuracy.

The smartest weapons,
Deployed,
To decimate the bad guys.


Black and brown people,
More often than not,

Pummelled to a pulp,
Black and blue.

While LCD screens miles away,
Surveil and scan for potential targets,

The unknown other. 
The evil doers,

As mothers and daughters,
Pick out apples and spinach
In a market-place in the cross-hairs.

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Afzal Moolla was born in Delhi, India while his parents were in exile, fleeing Apartheid South Africa. He then travelled wherever his parent's work took them and he still feels that he hasn't stopped travelling. Afzal works and lives in Johannesburg, South Africa and shares his literary musings with his most strident critic - his 12 year old cat.



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