Filled Vessel
I burn myself in fire to keep you warm
I bleed the River Nile trying to heal your wound
Yes, I cry you an ocean and you sail across on a boat
I drown myself in that ocean just to help you stay afloat
I hold seas in my eyes yet you are rather intrigued by its food
Yes, I give you the sweetness of life to enter my bees' swarm.
Notwithstanding, my thoughts are:
Stars I cannot fathom into a constellation;
Words I cannot communicate in Shakespearean dialect
Musical notes I cannot arrange into a Mozart piece
But yet you shatter my broken hearts into pieces
And acting like you don't care, you stay quiet
Wondering how I could remain in your imagination.
You silenced my thoughts in Babel's tower
For you to awaken my voice in the graveyard
You heat me up to boiling up, now you ask for breathing space
Yet when I give you the whole world you demand for Space
Thinking I'm Armstrong, perhaps I'm not strong to keep up your pace.
Yes, I surrendered my heart to you
Like the Aladura's claiming to be born anew.
But you mistake it for dust-
The dust which the cleaner ignores,
The harmmatan dust that lives people pale
Still you lead me on, dragging me on your Clydesdale
Knowing I would fall for your subterfuge
As a broken soul in need of refuge.
Yes, you shattered my already-broken heart
Thinking you could outsmart me with your sweetheart art.
Now I look at the ocean from a canoe
And shout from the south.
My north latitude will always be the thorn in your altitude.
INDEX:
Aladura’s: Classification of churches that abide by a Christian religious denomination founded in 1918 in West Africa
Harmattan: A season in West Africa, which is characterized by dry and dusty trade wind, of the same name, which blows from the Sahara Desert over West Africa into the Gulf of Guinea.