Until my name is washed clean

With this pain you drain into my pore

I might  exhaust my stay today 

Tomorrow,  a little  bit cloudy I guess 

But I know  the alighting station is near for sure

And if on me,  the transformation  breeze finally fell

And I'm  boxed a gift  to the brownish earth 

I want you to see so deep,  Into my bleeding heart

The mystery and thorn you've planted in it 

That wringed out every bit of peace  that resides in me

And know,   I'm laying my complaints to my pilot

I want you  to see no strain of forgiveness

But dread and woe  and a bite on that  finger 

For all your mind and hand as put forth  

Until  my name is  dragged out of the  mud 

Until  my name is wash clean of your filth .

Berende Hassan Bola

Scholarstical (the pen legend)