Sunday, September 16th, 2007
The story of the style
One night,
It woke me
A little girl again
Senselessly minding
My hair
If it covered enough of my
Cheek
My neck
Or if it flowed down
To biceps, and
Curved through my armpit,
Cadence
For it played
As it stroke me again
To form me a mantra
One which I have never
Sang of…
Nor heard of
For, true,
It had clanged for me
One beat and another
To shoot me a query
To spill me an answer,
A rhyme
And one night,
It woke me
A little girl again
Senselessly minding
Everything,
Just everything I saw
And wrote it down
On paper
