A Writer, Language analyst, Poet, Online Tutor and a Preacher.
To build a memorial
To survive the ophans
To see them
Sneezing-out happiness
...
This world is not our Home
Until we understand;
That we need not to get old before death knocks
While crossing this world
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A fight out of the womb
A fight to walk
A fight to talk
A fight to learn
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What happened?
Tell me; what happened?
Let my thinking be wrong
(with tears on mama's face)
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I hear a voice, shriller than the normal tongue of men
As I held-up my left hands to clean my nose:
The fault is not our star, but our thought'
Telling of how replete and cruel the mind of men can be;
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