​MY WORDS

my words
my words

Our bones got broken

at the race our fathers left behind

Forgetting that our fruits are sour and biled
Our names have munched

on the grinding stones of our ladies

Who gave their oils to the smiling thieves
Our trust has been dashed in the heavy rain

that killed the scenting rose

All because we she was of beauty and spotless
Who will seal her up

Lest she lose her whole flow

Who will break her siege

Which she has gladly ganged herself

I cry for my voice to kill

And bring books to tears.

 ©Reconstrucvista

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