The shaped heart
Waking from the slumber of deceits,
It was in fury of nothingness but lamentation;
then you stood there in cold blank shit,
crying and weeping like a allocate;
I know your innocence will endlessly draw you
like the cloud covered with smoke everywhere
your voice provokes,slowly parts the earth,
thus an innocent virgin in the village,
is abused from her womanhood,
you only wants to be king of every one
Because your staff is making laws and verdicts,
yet her confessions are demise by your soldiers.
Open your dorm and deplore your men
from their armed deeds,
confuse them to find mercy
with their swords from these souls
lest it's poverty and dismay she has turn them to become.
One thing is to love,another thing is lost.
Do we follow love and decide we are loved?
Do we call It lost because we are not loved?
Even if we are loved,
when do we feel it is perfect for these to be called love?
I don' know if her virginity is true,
or a fetish believe I used to ear.
I have seen mortals dwell in a world of oblivion before,
I have known hatred famished lovers because
she has no room for him.
One more night is passed,
another history is told.
lashing incense from your courtyard,yes
her breast finds no passion from her comforter.
What could be his plight!
What could be his fear even if no one tells him
the truth of who he is.
Some call him Africa,
some call him malaika,
others say he's from somewhere
black and feminine,
roaming from dusts and moods,
clinging himself to the earth like wrath
inhabitant,paved from the cave.