It was built with rough, black and blacker bricks

unevenly cemented, because

the bricks were all different shapes and sizes

none fitted nicely nor neatly, cement was the saving grace.

 Fascinating to watch and wonder who and when and how

had put it all together.

A masterpiece in ugliness.

Uneven things all knitted together

enduring every seasons weather.

In parts, covered in ivy, covered in tears, covered in stillness, covered in years

and yet, still standing as it stood when its builder stepped back

to admire his creation before putting down his tools 

Down the years it became more than what separated a people

though, still now the bricks small shaped and big

black and blacker into my soul they dig

and from the other side in its beak carrying a twig

is a bird on a mission from an ark long lost and sunk?  

Too heavy the emotions and pains; the missing, the thunder and rains

the losses and gains

And still, after one hundred years, this wall remains

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