I want to be numb, but my soul cries too loud for me to
ignore. I am supposed to have grown accustomed to pain, but things happen that
remind me that I am a man and that in the heart of man, pain has an abode, try
as much as you can, you can never escape its grip.
As I type this, the voice of two promising young men cut
down in their prime by the kind of unmitigated blood-lust that our country have
come to identify with, booms out from my laptop speakers. Like voices from the
grave, the young men cry out that there “ain’t no love in the heart of the
city”. It is eerie, like prophesies of that kind are, especially when one
considers that the boys had pleaded for their lives to flesh and blood men that
refused to show them a little love, people that refused to spare their lives.
