Whose Heart Is This? Poem by Isiaq Nasirdeen Tinuola

Whose the heart belong I think I know,
Her house in the village though;
She will not see me hear stopping
To watch her heart fills up with sins

My little eyes most think it queer
To stop without a heart for loves
Between the heart that sank in sins
The darkest evening of the year

She gives her heart; devil toys
To control her life as baby toys
The only regime that administrates
Of her heart are sin and downy flakes

The heart is guilty of dark dust
But I have tried to clear it off
And miles I went before it clear
And all efforts made result in vain