The rain falls to make her grow,
But all she knows is the flood in her heart.
Her bones break to make her strong,
But paralyzed she sits singing Pity’s song.

Her voice permeates the souls of mere men,
Voice within, loudly unseen.
Her hands uplift the spirits of strong men,
Stronger than an ox, with feet of deer.
Her touch runs deep healing the wounds of  brothers and thieves, friend and foe, a man she barely knows.

So when the rain falls to make her grow,
Their pain is all she knows.

To love

Like flowers blooming in spring-
Your love is hard to miss;
It’s colourful and fragrant like vineyard seeds
And like wine intoxicates me

Like clouds at night my heart is but a shadow of itself,
Like clouds in the heat of sun my heart is bluer than oceanic depth,
It longs for you
It misses you.

I cannot go on without your beauty
Like a bee in lust for honey,
And root desperate for soil to grow in
I won’t go on without it
I come undone before thee.

Christmas In my house.

It’s Christmas in my house,
The women bend and break their backs to feed the mouths of angry men who only spew insults back.

It’s Christmas in my house,
The women wake up early to feed the stomachs of men in a bid to get to their hearts-

hearts already hardened by hate to give nothing back.

Merry Christmas