In case they ask you about the streets I come from,
Tell them these in my behave,
Tell them,
Where I come from,
They are streets of religion purity,
But sinners judging sinners for falling traps of different sins,
Tell them,
Those streets I come from,
Phone passwords are more private than those “private body parts”
Tell them,
In our streets ,
Love is only a game ,
And those with heavy pockets always win,
While the dusty pocketed are always losers,
Tell them,
Those streets I come from,
Education is the key, but those educated are workers for non educated,
Tell them ,
Those streets I come from,
The face of a coin takes life faster than anything else,
Tell them,
Our streets are filled with lust and greed,
The rich always growing richer ,
While the poor always consumed in the rages of poverty,
Tell them ,
Our streets are at peace,
The politicians talking about growing the economy,
While we, dying of hunger and floods,
Tell them, our streets are paradise with the devil the king
# Cyra the poet
# Dripping pen
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