Did i not tell my crying eyes,
That the nose helps not in tearing?
When my incisor fights my tongue,
Even me cannot tell which is wrong.
Who can tell what i see in the onion,
That i cry when it kisses the knife?.
Who will detest the rests on mattress?
To fight with me my nights of distress.
My battles are not those of swords,
But ones on the warfront of words.
I fight not those who handcuff my hand,
But mouths that speaks ill of my mind.
I know my attitudes not found good,
I'm thus worse but you are bad too.
So tell me the harms in my wrong but,
Hide my flaws from mocks of the world.