The Four Of Us : part 7

What should I be called,
a child with no hopes
indeed,a woman with children yet barren
I have been dragged to the sticky mud of disgust
selfishness massages my pride
I am beautiful, why make me look ugly.

Nature has blessed me with all I need
my daughters match on black pure fertility
beneath these fertility, flows the oil of wealth why do I burn in flames with so much rivers
my sons have choose to toil in tears what calamity should i bear,their blindness or ignorance.

I need a husband
a true man to father my children
the man that knows how to sustain my beauty
I have got just four children of my own
North, South,West and East
so endowed with no one to see their true worth.

I am an empty woman
ashes is my best costume, I feel so nude,stop tearing me apart, I haven’t got bones
malnourishment has made me an adult with cartilage
the sweet words of men has always melted me,
I jubilate awaiting the fulfillment of their promises, again and again!
I feel arrows rush through my innocence.

My son’s are served with a hot bowl of soup,
so many chefs with a single pot,
they feel the taste after four years,
you can only swallow what you have chewed if you can’t puke it, let’s use these brooms to sweep away gerontocracy, did I say something!
I am young and numb, what guts have I to speak.

Written and composed by Boffins

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