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My duas folded hands with wishing wells,
wonder if sinner pray their daily 5,
20 years of slaves to my creator,
ironic why am I chained to this life,

Times where broken bills don't carry change,
and money taste like shay-tan,
When clouds grows there horns out,
not enough good deed get rains on,

This  world need to get refurbished,
paid work shifts don't excuse refused worship,
just like when death chuck deuces,
don't mean it mean the peace signs,

Im dead tired with strength alive  
enough to poke holes through a loopholes
I cant allow ourselves to dumb it down,
if we come to  bring truth to the pseudos,

I cant discriminate with y'all
Son of your God, we see as messenger,
You say only god can judge me ,
like you forget judgement day come with hot temperatures?
At sea level once,
I placed myself on a pedastal,
but the nosebleed was a river,
a torrent greater than
one found
in the jetstream
& now I stick to the ground,
keep my feet plastered
firmly on the ridgeline
& stare up
into heaven
graciously.
Sweetheart with a sweet heart,
that beat up against sour times,
only to freeze up like statues.

-Shahrukh Zamir

— The End —