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.