My mouth quaries that I give it less attention than I give to my eyes. My ears overheard and called my mouth "jealous conjugant". My hands beat my ears for been rude but, it was my eyes that run like a river point.
I dare not separate them when they fight, they know how to make up. In our village market, when my hands throw stone, it landed on my head and it was my mother's tray that scattered. Who knows why she kept it there!
My head complained of heat, scared of scorching sun it signed a pact with my hair.
Now, desert has encroached, and the reflection mirrors on my belief.
Their teeth crinch five times daily at the sound of a desert voice. Is there no one to ring the bell?
In both hands, beads adore the cardinals and, to the sky the rain is expected. For we are all heirs of the blessing.
Why can't they live together in one body peace? You have that to learn from each other.
The tongue and teeth will always provoke one another, yet they live happily in one roof.
I am the owner of you all, why can't you give me peace.
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