Talking to myself through poetry
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I am only a girl
And I have been through hell
He holds me so closely
Caressing me dearly…
His grip is firm and huge
In him I seek refuge
I am like the musical
Cruel case of Africa
Playing to master’s touch
Whose kneel I made my couch
Symmetry in Nature
Altered in the future
Fetching nothing but pain
“Ti’s for the best”; he claims.
Soon you will be off an infant cloth And may encounter storms, dirt and rust Some achievements may seem a mirage Unachievable until success emerge…
Let the pages fly and spread their wings Let my spilled inks make millions to think It is plain and simple, hope it sinks “All…
Simple or made into an Elf What is music to a born deaf? Same question goes without tongues Pot or Chef, who spoilt the stock?…
It is no news that the pigs are fat As a result of the embezzlements Taking politics as a personal farm Eating from the labors…
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