The three enemies

Head, heart, hand,
like a stream can flow
to follow one dream;
the team cannot stand
together thanks to the
rotten teachings, techniques
they’ve learned, to be always
at loggerheads, one ahead
of the other, never in sync with
one another;
as separate entities, they
run fast, alone, haywire, as
enemies, like a misguided learner,
an overflown river
with broken banks, the water
that could have given life
is drowning humankind with
an invisible knife.

Hand, heart, head, they never
sing the same song, paint the
same picture, speak the
same language; ruling
over the dead, they hardly
agree to walk hand in hand,
no consciousness they’re one
and the same; they miss the fun,
lose the game.

Head held low, hands hurt below
the belt, the heart lies apart;
had they flown like a brook,
a watercourse, a tributary
what a tribute that would’ve
been to the little hut, had the three
shown a careful camaraderie.