What err’rs have you made, foolish one?
What spurs you to these acts, my son?
How does it feel, the guilt you bear,
That steels upright your longest hairs,
Your skin that crawls in bustling nests
Of bullets ants, enraged at best?

What have you done to make it weigh,
Your heart enleaded, filled with shame,
Like fallen stars – You’ve fallen far.
You’ve failed in your rememb’ring God
So burn here son; let not be lost
The sins you’ve claimed in heedlessness,
For here you’re scalded – merciless.
But ’tis a mercy had you known,
So send your grat’ude lest you fold.

About the Author: Jcitykey was born and raised in Toronto, Canada, and is currently pursuing a degree in the applied sciences. He has been writing poetry since he was 13, and consistently since the age of 21. He takes from the likes of Percy Shelly and Homer, and more recently from the likes of Mawlana Rumi, Allama Iqbal, and other mystic poets.

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