My Words Called Lies
Compatriots, you don't trust a poet's words,
They only sound sweet at first,
But is not devoid of true emotions in the real world,
Like verdicts hidden in a fist.
"My love for you will never die,"
You hear the small tinge of love actually left in my voice,
But means an overly penned down lie,
Believing in my constructive criticisms, forecasts, predictions is a matter of choice.
My pen bleeds in black and white and I've been around the hood,
The scars on my chest and back will tell you how long,
Hoping my ideas and words could mean something good,
And make you feel strong.
One day, when I will be gone like a sparrow,
You will find my poems to be the bitter truth and pills you failed to swallow.
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