Warzone

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My back is a warzone

Where my lover traces it’s border to my spine.

There are landing spaces for jets

In my vertebral columns

And landmines on my ribs.

My father doesn’t approve of this relationship.

He says that a woman’s body is a sacred tomb

No lover should play with planes on that.

For he will be the martyr in the end

And you the dead imbecile.

He says society will divide your land

And decorate your peaks

Paint you in color they think nice.

Red isn’t only for blood

And remember,

Wars should be over by the.

And you should forget about love.

Your body should be a market place

Not a warzone, he says

A market place where you sell love

Which you are a stranger to.

A market place where, you should give all yourself

And expect nothing in return.

A market place where money have no role to play

It’s only fake promises and dead dreams

To which you will sell your love.

But alas, warzone or a market place.

I know

There will never be peace.

My back is a warzone

Everything else is a graveyard.

Now, rest in peace

The spoken words version of this poem is in my YouTube channel and if you wish to listen to it click here .

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