Nobuhle Maseko
Poverty comes in many forms.
Can be mental, physical, or emotional.
But have you felt poverty in the heart.
A hallow hole through a sensitive organ.
Feeling lonely, empty, namb, feeling no feeling whatsoever.
Looking for love from all over the world but always rejected.
Always thrown away in the wild.
Being hurt a couple of times.
By those who are supposed to protect from rains and sunny days, storms and hails.
By those who are supposed to love endlessly like the rainfalls of Madagascar.
But those are all thoughts running wildly in my cells like electrics right?
Thoughts with no guarantee are just wordless.
Words written are better than those spoken as they have dried out of ink.
Inked in the heart then inked to the nunnery.
By the blow of heavy winds in the far desert.
So does the heart by just a touch of feeling.
Slippery organ that slips away in a blink of an eye if not carried with care.
Be aware of how to keep it warm and safe from all.
As once it flows.
Or blows always.
It’s damaging pandemic with no control.
Poverty of love made me running after everything to keep me human.
But desperate I was to found myself in the same poverty even worse than the last time.
@Nobuhle Maseko
South Africa (Dennilton)
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