If you're reading this,
Don't think I committed suicide,
Don't call cops to my grave,
And don't read my eulogy,
Its not a tale I would tell,
Its not a story to narrate,
Its from the fairy of the nights,
So to the murderer in white,
Who threatened me with a knife,
Carry a gun with you, next time,
Sharpen your knife thrice,
And keep your axe too.

My complexion takes, black, red, purple and white,
So to my murderer in white,
When you see me in red,
Spare my valentine,
When you see me in black,
Let me mourn my death,
When you see me in purple,
Pay me my respect,
When you meet me in white,
Drop your arms,
And if you ever happen to meet me naked,
That's the real me, unmasked,
And weighed down with anxiety,
Who's escaped the knife twice,
But wished for it thrice.

It's up until you build your nation, that you'll understand the ***** in a throne.

Until you press on the edge of a sword, you'll never understand the trauma of a crippled.

No one dislikes grand entries
Recognition, calms contentment,
It's a fact,we appreciate,
But have you thought of their world,
With words spearing the heart,
Yet too sharp, to get through,
When I talk of secret hearts,
I mean the painful baggage,
The lagguage in an introvert's heart,
So when they hold the curtains behind,
Give them the backstage role
Maybe they'll lean on the backs,
And make their grief known,
They are children of our mothers
And their world, is the silenced pain,
By the virtue, of abandoned upbringing.

If words were not heavy,
If hearts were light enough,
We'd speak a common language,
We'd talk about the same heaven,
And dress in purple.

'They add to those that have,
And take from those that lack,
And brand it justice' she said,
I'd not want her in my art,
But she designed its world.

Roads aren't smooth,
But if I'm poshy,
I'd make it to the end
Check out the cars in seizure...
That's the agency in service.

Carry DNA tools to companies,
I'm sure all companies will be family companies,
Then, you inquire about kindness,
Well, its etched within us, they say,
And we'd rather have our own.

I wish we talked the same language,
We'd have a common definition of kindness,
And figures of love,
The we'd spark our world,
And grace its street.

White scarfs, bald heads, short hair, lengthy strands
That's what colours our days,
Though, not until you realize the shadows within,
And the darkness beneath, where;
The spears clutch,
And the blood spurs,
Yet the ocean's still blue.

It is in the ocean, where;
Patterns are drawn,
And together make the beam,
There beneath, are letters,
Some in blue and others in red,
Then you must realize,
How deceptive the ocean's blue is.

It is the sea camouflaging the blue ink,
And coating the beetroots,
What if we were alike?
How about religion was love?
Then, the ocean would be white,
To somehow reveal the darkness,
The dark concealed underneath worship roofs.